


Radiation Point

by MAVEfm



Series: Radiation Point [1]
Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Brobecks, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic), Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Battery City, Better Living Industries, Blood, Drugs, F/M, Gen, Killjoy Names, Mental Health Issues, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 80,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MAVEfm/pseuds/MAVEfm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Better Living Industries would like to invite you to celebrate this day as the first successful strike against the desert rebels known as "Killjoys". Today will forever be remembered as The Triumph of Zone 5 and one more step towards the betterment of Battery City for all its inhabitants, and a more perfect, monochromatic life.</p><p>*This message is brought to you by the Better Living Industries Department of Communications, who would like to remind you to remember to smile today!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steel

**[ .-.. --- ...- . .----. ... / .- / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- .. -. --. / -.. .-. .- --. ]**

 

When she smiled, Brendon could live again.

 

When she told him she loved him, he felt weightless.

 

He worked every day for her, to see her happy, to know she was okay, his entire world was her.

 

Her, her, her. Because of her, he was whole, because of her, Brendon was living in a daydream.

 

Because because because

 

Because drugs were for the feelings of terror that she might be taken away from him. Because the drugs that were the staple of Battery City were ones of bitter thoughts and he hated HATED _hated_ them. But she was there, she was happy in the city.

 

He wanted to keep seeing her happy.

 

She was his light that could be taken away, just like so many he had known, replaced by a wired copy. His parents, his brother, no one had noticed, _no one._

 

He kept quiet for her. Broke no laws, drew no attention, so she was safe.

 

Safe, safe, **safe**.

 

She asks him, “Do you hate the city? Aren’t you angry?” Her voice was a symphony of knives that left scars on his perpetually nervous skin.

 

He is _afraid_ of the city, _afraid_ it will steal her in the twilight and tear her to pieces. _Afraid_ because they **know.** They have ears in the walls and eyes in concrete, and he is a coward, he knows this more than anybody and she expects so much and he wants to give it to her.

 

But his answer is one that disappoints her, and he disappoints himself, His regret and cowardice crushes her and her anger folds him into a box that he will never escape from. Why is he like this whydoeshedothiswhydoeshehurther?

 

She still loves him, she says, and her hands touch his face and his whole body is warm from it. It fills him with a sweet taste he can’t identify, but she has to leave, take a walk, she says, to clarify. But things haven’t been clear for so long and it’s dark out, so so dark and she’ll be swallowed up whole like his brother, his mother, like everyone else.

 

She just can’t see his face right now, her hand's trail down his neck and shoulders like fire and the smoke of her absence leaves him breathless. He stands, paralyzed in the hot burning coals she leaves in her wake and the door is left slamming, _burning_ from her touch.

 

Pieces of him break away as he tumbles to the floor, he had always been fragile, _like glass_ his mother once told him _But one day you will be tempered like steel, or learn to fly, like a little glass bird._ Mother had been sick all her life, and his father pulled him away and told him he shouldn’t see his mother when she was like that. But his mother was wrong and he would always be glass. Glass without her.

 

He was glass and a coward and he _needed_ her. The door whispered as it shut behind him, leaving him to the inky black night of Battery City. His feet stung when they hit the ground, and his breath came and went. Where did she go? Wherewherewhere?

 

He called her name all night, running circles around the city, and his home was not home anymore when he returned with his eyes wet and his stomach hurting.

 

 _It_ was there when he entered, his feet dragging, pulling heavy thoughts and fears behind him, and _it_ smiled when he faced it. Smiling, it was relieved he was home, where has he been all night?

 

It hugged his neck.

 

_(Choking him.)_

 

Its eyes were empty, when they should be holding light, it was a fake, like his mother, father, brother fakefakefake _fake_ . It was too real and perfect, _too perfect,_ the voice that was a symphony was replaced with a copied, scratched, and broken record. Its touch was cold, unfeeling, and it said things she would not have said.

 

It offered the drugs in a static copy of who it was impersonating and Brendon’s thoughts piled on top of one another, he had settled for an illusion for one week. One week too long, he had failed her, herherher heneededherheneededherhe **neededherHENEEDEDHER**.

 

He was glass and she had been a fire that hadn’t burned long enough.

 

Its expression hadn’t changed when he threw a glass in its face, shattered, and embedded itself into one of its eyes, its face twitched and he threw his body around it, spiraling to the floor in a storm of electric limbs and his own fragile skin.

“Brendon,” It pleads with him “Please Bren--” Stopstopstopstop. He digs his hands into its wired face and cries hot thick tears that fall into its metal skull and burns his fingers with electricity until a smooth and sultry, _sickening,_ voice rings through its broken parts.

 

“Brendon Boyd Urie…made of glass, a coward, who knew someone so weak could ever tell the difference… What will I do with you now?”

 

* * *

 

He ran, he ran so far and so fast he didn’t know his lungs had given up a mile ago. Bleak gray and white buildings loomed over him, trapping him in dead ends and alleyways that stretched on forever. The walls of Battery City were what stopped him, convincing him to sit and rest and think about death and what would happen if he could will himself to die.

 

He couldn’t stop crying like he was melting.

 

Melting onto the sidewalk, sinking into Battery City, becoming one with the power cords under the street.

 

Giving up was not an option, or so it told to him by an orange pornodroid, she pulled him to his stinging feet with soft hands created for pleasure, now blackened with wiring, her eyes dulled to gray. _I will meet my fate with the Destroya, and you will too,_ her voice soft and weak, determined and strong.

 

He was led away by her strong, fragile, hands, too weak to tell her he was not a pornodroid, or maybe she already knew. His burned fingers stung in her grasp.

 

Elevators, moving staircases, out of the city into the zones… Why was he leaving the city? Why was he not a draculoid yet, why was a pornodroid helping himwhywhywhy.

 

RUN!

 

A moment of clarity and his feet hit the ground again, he would not die, he would live for her, but Exterminators and Draculoids started blasting and everything went to mush and nothing made sense anymore why was he leaving the city? Why was he leaving her?

 

Up the stairs, he heard her again, no not _her_ , or maybe it was, telling him “Don’t stop! Destroya will meet us on Getaway Mile!” The crowd engulfed her, shielding her from exterminators and his own panicked gaze.

 

Faces blurred.

 

His breath was heavy and he was swallowed by the people around him, staring, their eyes menacing and angry, burning him with torches of their own needs _selfish, selfish._ He should lie down and let them trample him.

 

Soft hands grabbed him once again.

 

She smiled at him, bright and warm, and they clambered up the elevator together.

 

Up they went, and crowds thinned and he shivered, she smiles at him, gripping his shoulders with an unexpected tightness.

 

“I knew her, Brendon,” her eyes full of fire and sadness “She took care of me, she wanted you to be free…”

 

The exterminators yelled and cursed like banshees and they crossed the city lines like they were running some sick marathon. “She loved you so much, Brendon… and I promised I would help, I just… promise me you won’t die quick...j-just promise her…”  Exterminators called his name, taunting, “Promise _me_ that you’ll…” She glanced back wide-eyed, mouthing a countdown under her breath, Brendon struggled to pull himself from her arms. “Promise me that you’ll _RUN!”_

 

She screamed, and electricity arced around them both, making his back arch and the air crackle. He fell backward, away from the droid, his shirt smoking, the hair singed from his arms.

 

His ears rang, and his heart was ready to burst, he couldn’t think he couldn’t see run runrunrun into the desert to burn Burn **BURN.**

 

Ears ringing, run where? Where does he go?

 

He is afraid. Afraid of the desert that will tear him to pieces, burn him to ash. But she expects so much of him that he is _afraid_ to disappoint her, and he slowed. The sun eating at him, _radiation,_ he thinks.

 _Radiation is like a drug…_ he remembers, but it sinks him to the ground, getting him high with thoughts of her and he can barely make it to a vending machine to lean against it. Confusion struck him and dissipated, and he melted to the ground _or was he floating?_ The sun filled him with feathers and soft things and Her.

 

Her her her.

  
**[ --. --- --- -.. -. .. --. .... - / ... .- .-. .- .... ]**


	2. Numb

**[ ... --- -- . - .. -- . ... / .-- . / - .- -.- . / -.-. .... .- -. -.-. . … ]**

 

He couldn’t feel his fingers.

 

Which happened sometimes.

 

The alarm clock rang. _Good Morning, Andrew! Remember to Smile today!_

 

He was in his room. Didn’t he leave last night?

 

He fumbled, trying to turn the alarm off. Where did he go last night? He couldn’t remember.

 

Andrew stood, dizzy _dizzy._

 

He was in the bathroom now, vomiting. His world went blurry for a moment, he wiped his mouth.

 

They were on the kitchen counter, like they should, _good._ He took them without water, and they left a bitter taste in his mouth. Like metal and wine.

 

He felt better now, even with his headache, _please stop._

He should go to work now, he organized papers, when had he gotten dressed?

 

He took another with water this time, like wine.The glass fell from his numb fingers and he stumbled sideways. His heart beat fast, _slow down._

 

Andrew left his apartment, his door slammed by accident, _headache._

 

He didn’t mean to shut it so hard.

 

“You look skinny, dear, are you eating well?” A woman said to him. _His neighbor?_

_I have to go to work, sorry._

 

His building is gray, like all the other buildings. But his workplace is white but sometimes hard to look at, so he looked at his feet instead.

 

He could feel his fingers again.

 

Then he stumbled into the white building, wringing his hands, his heart pounding against his rib cage. _Thumpthumpthumpcalmdownplease._

 

The lady at the front desk smiled at him and called him Andy, does he call himself Andy? Oh, maybe he does, _yes he does._

 

He waved at her and turned left, _down the hallway then turn right._

 

He did that too.

 

“Uh, hey man, you’re back,” Andy turned toward the voice when he sat down at his desk, the voice’s nametag said _Mike,_ “You were gone for a while… I was getting worried.”

 

Gone? No, he wasn’t gone, he came in yesterday. He repeated this to Mike.

 

“Um,” Mike pushed his hair back “No? I mean, you were gone for like a week? You were supposed to mentor me… Are you okay, sir? You look pretty beat up…”

 

Andy’s heart pounded rapidly in his ears, _shut up._ He was fine, he had a headache, he was supposed to mentor somebody? It did not say so on his schedule, he would like to file a complaint to…

 

To… He tapped his fingernails on his desk, to… to… who? He couldn’t remember where he could send complaints _was there even a place?_

 

“Sir? Mr. Hurley?” _Mike_ again.

 

“Ok!” Andy snapped at him, irritable, _headache,_ he was blurry again, like this morning, when everything was blurry. Did he need glasses?

 

Another man was at his desk now, laughing, had something funny been said? “It’s okay Andy,” this new man said, “I’ll mentor him for you, it’s fine.”

 

Mike was taken by the shoulders and spun around to face this other guy. Who engaged him in a whispered conversation. Which Andy was impolitely also engaged in.

 

He heard words like, _told you,_ and _don’t talk,_ and _addicted to,_ and even _he’s a rat_

Was he talking about him? Was he a rat? He was human, though. Why was he a rat? Had he done something untrustworthy? Why was he a rat? _Headache again_.

 

 _He’s a RAT, he’s a_ rat, _he’s a_ **_rat_ ** **.**

 

Lunchtime.

 

They were administered at lunchtime, and he took them with milk and felt better, even if they tasted like metal.

 

He found one in his pocket and took that too. Like wine.

 

Back to work, he wasn’t hungry.

 

He organized files and sometimes wrote on them with black ink. He had to read some of them before he got to write on them, which he didn’t like, he couldn’t focus on the tiny words and lost his place all the time. He tapped his pen on his desk, anxiously, rhythmically.

 

He wrote his name on the paper, on the dotted line, _Andrew Hurley._

 

 _Rat,_ he wrote _Rat._

 

 _Rat rat rat rat._ Mixing with the rhythm in his mind, _Rat a tat tat Rat a tat tat._

 

All over the page, and the desk, _rat rat rat,_ and he stumbles backward out of his chair. His black ink pen clatters to the ground, leaving a thin squiggle on the white tile. _Rat rat rat,_ on his fingers and hands.

 

His head pounded along with his heart and he was in the bathroom vomiting like this morning, tasting like wine and metal.

 

He wanted to go home now.

 

Dizzy, he walked past Mike and the man who laughed at him.

 

He was sweating because he was tired or because of the sickness that he left in the bathroom? His face was numb from it.

 

The nice lady at the front desk wasn’t there this time to smile or call him Andy, she was replaced by a boy with black hair and a sour expression. He barely glanced in Andy’s direction, and it made him think that the boy thought he was a _rat_ as well.

 

What had he done? Had he done _anything_ at all? _Why did Mike say he was gone all week?_

He needed another, another pill _,_ to make him feel okay again, and he dug in his pockets to find one and felt like screaming because _nothing was there._

 

He couldn’t feel his fingers.

 

Which happened a lot.

 

His building was around the corner but he tripped into an alleyway instead and leaned against a gray wall because he was _dizzy,_ so _dizzy._ He dug in his pockets again, frantic and scared then rejoicing at the feeling of one in his pants pocket, which felt like it was melting in his warm hands.

 

Like metal, he was okay, like wine.

 

Laughter from the other end of the alley, “Look,” one voice said, high and scathing.

 

The other voice laughed again, thin and rasping.

 

They came closer, and Andy tried to brace himself against the wall to stand, and suddenly they were in front of him, the first one placed a thick black boot against his chest and pushed him onto the asphalt again. “You know what I hate Travis?” The first one said.

 

The second one, Travis, laughed and asked, “What’s that Shane?”

 

He could hardly breathe and Shane said, “Stuff that makes my city ugly, and you know what makes my city ugly?” He didn’t wait for Travis to respond this time. “People like _you,_ ” He leaned down and smiled at Andy like a shark.“You’re not even people anymore, you’re just _addicts.”_

 

His boot was lifted from Andy’s chest, only to collide with his ribs, again and again, “You clog up _my_ streets, popping your pills like the little bitch you are,” Travis laughed and stomped on his legs. “Dirty, useless, _Ritalin Rats,_ BLI should just turn you people into Draculoids already, you make me _sick.”_ Shane spit on his bruised face.

 

_Ritalin Rat, Ritalin Rat, Rat, Ratratratrat._

 

Pills were administered in controlled doses by Better Living Industries themselves. He took them like he should, but Shane didn't know that, Travis didn’t know that. They called him a _rat, a Ritalin Rat._

 

No no no _no_ . _Ratratratrat_ **_RAT._ **

 

He wanted to go home.

 

He stood, _headache again_ , he could feel his fingers again too. His legs ached and so did his ribs.

 

He retched onto the sidewalk, but there was nothing to throw up except the taste of metal and blood.   


* * *

 

His bed was made of smashed glass, and his covers are lined with needles. His pillows are filled with gravel and whispered scathing words, making his ears itch and his head fill with cotton. _Rat, Addict, Ugly_ **_, Rat_ **.

 

He couldn’t sleep, something kept forcing his eyes to stay open.

 

He sat up in the darkness listening to a commotion outside, _pornodroid, Destroya, escalators._

 

 _What is the Graffiti Bible?_ He vomits onto the floor, his dinner, a bite of toast, and the taste of metal, like iron, like wine, like blood.

 

He’s outside, on the fire escape, and watches as Exterminators and Draculoids swarm the Getaway Mile.

 

Pornodroids are always leaving, what makes this one special?

 

He is too tired to clean up his mess and falls asleep on the fire escape, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

 

* * *

 

 

He does not remember, _no, he knows,_ he did not clean his sickness from the floor last night, and yet it is gone when he wakes up.

 

He realizes he has not cleaned anything in awhile.

 

He is glad he doesn’t have to work today.

 

Pills are swallowed in the kitchen, tasting like iron and whiskey. He doesn’t like whiskey. He takes one more with milk, like iron.

 

He falls asleep on the couch, listening to the news, and dreams.

 

Dreams filled with desert sand and screaming Draculoids and Shane’s shark smile and rats and _WAKE UP!_

 

A knock at the door and he answers to the woman next door, or his mother, or the sour-faced boy from yesterday, or hundreds of Draculoids that squeeze through his door and force a mask on him and _wake up wake up wakeupwakeupwakeup._

 

“Wake up! Wake up, man! You have to!” The world was blended into a hazy mess and his eyes could barely open and he couldn’t breathe.

 

Pressure on his chest, _down, up, down, up_ and he was retching onto the floor, spit and blood, like iron, like wine.

 

In front of him, on the floor, breathing heavily with exhaustion? Or relief? It Was the boy from yesterday, his lips were moving, explaining what happened but Andy’s ears ring with cymbal crashes and pounding drums. _Overdosed_ , the boy's voice was whisper quiet, _need your help._

 

“... You are Andy Hurley right?”

 

He nods. The boy sighs with relief. “I’m Pete, and I think need your help.”

 

He couldn’t feel his fingers.

 

Which is happening a lot lately.

  
**[ ... --- -- . - .. -- . ... / .-- . / - .- -.- . / .--. .. .-.. .-.. … ]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The side effects of the fictional BL/ind drugs are a combination of common side effects found in Xanax and Ritalin, including: dizziness, insomnia, memory problems, poor balance or coordination, sweating, headache, nausea, blurred vision, irritability, nervousness, agitation ,anxiety, weight loss, vomiting,increased heart rate, psychosis, and numbness.
> 
> BTW I take Ritalin and ugh just don't look up side effects to drugs you take, I was like: I HAVE LIKE HALF OF THESE!! 
> 
> This chapter feels useless but it WILL go somewhere, have faith in me.


	3. Before

 

**[ --- -. -.-. . / .- --. .- .. -. / - .... . .-. . / .-- .- ... / - .... . / -.. . ... . .-. - ]**

 

When Patrick turned two, he saw the desert for the first time.

 

It was a tradition in his tiny Zone 5 village.

 

His mother held his hand and paraded him through a maze of tiny huts and homes made of dried mud, much like their own. While his father walked behind them, armed with only an old and dusty ray-gun Patrick had never seen him use.

 

The other children, who had already turned two weeks, months, or even years ago, poked and prodded at his soft cheeks and wispy shock of strawberry hair. The teenagers and other adults laid their hands on his shoulders and offered his mother and father little trinkets and toys found in the desert sand, all of them washed away memories from a time before the Helium Wars.

 

It rained for the first time in three years on that day.

 

Fat drops of water hit his head slowly at first, and his mother stared upward, as if confused. Until it poured, fast and loud, turning the ground to a mush that tickled his bare feet.

 

The children who once ruffled his hair and poked at his face now whooped and hollered and danced in the rain and the adults held their mouths open towards the sky, drinking a drop at a time.

 

“Praise Destroya!” He heard his father say, and his mother cried warm tears that turned her blue eyes red. Patrick clung to her legs, confused as to why she was crying and laughing at the same time.

 

A man who called himself Aladdin Sane appeared then, the oldest man Patrick had ever or would ever see. He wore an orange and blue mask that made Patrick giggle and reach out to touch it when Aladdin knelt in front of him. He smiled, kind and soft, and took Patrick's tiny hand in his own large and calloused one.

 

“Patrick, born of the desert, right under the righteous gaze of Destroya herself, like the children you see now around you.” He motioned to the children who had danced in the pouring rain, now held back by their own mothers to watch him.

 

“You, and them, are different from your parents, for you were born from sand while they were born from the metal and concrete of the city.” Aladdin held up a fist filled with wet sand, and it dripped through the cracks in his fingers, falling to the ground in chunks. “While they will work their whole lives to thank Destroya for her kindness to them, you need only spill a drop of blood to please the desert.”

 

His mother knelt beside him as Aladdin pulled a small silver knife from a patchwork bag at his hip. He turned Patrick’s hand palm up, and Patrick began to cry as he tried to pull his hand from Aladdin’s grip. His mother only held him tight and kissed the tears running down his cheeks, whispering calming words in his ear.

 

“Destroya has blessed the day of your birth with rain…” Aladdin Sane turned his face toward the sky, “She will surely bless you for the rest of your life and welcome you with open arms in death.”

 

The knife slid along Patrick’s palm and he screamed as lightning flashed through the sky and thunder shook the ground. His blood fell in small drops to the sand, quickly mixing with the rain.

 

It was a tradition in his tiny Zone 5 village.

 

* * *

 

 

When Patrick was three, he watched a tiny girl named Hayley do the same thing. She had turned two only a day ago and Aladdin brought the same knife. Hailey cried when Aladdin offered her blood to the desert and blessed her in the name of Destroya.

 

Patrick twitched at the sting he still felt on the palm of his hand.

 

Rain had not blessed Hayley’s ceremony like it had Patrick’s.

 

Aladdin Sane stayed in Patrick’s home that night,  a repurposed gas station, and ate dinner with his parents. He smiled at Patrick when he left, pulling white aviator goggles over his eyes and speeding off on a sleek lime green motorcycle.

 

* * *

 

 

When Patrick turned four, his mother gave him a little yellow bird made out of metal, its paint rusting and its wings dented, but he thought it was the most beautiful thing he had.

 

His father took him outside that same day and placed cans of pop side by side on an old cardboard box and fixed his dusty ray-gun in Patrick’s small hands and told him: “Someday, I might not come back,” He knelt to look Patrick in the eye, “So you have to take care of your mommy if that happens, okay?”

 

Patrick said, “But where would you go, Daddy?”

 

His father smiled, all teeth and sparkling eyes, and instructed him in the correct way to hold a ray-gun and he shot at the cans until his mom came out of the house and yelled at dad for giving him something so dangerous like that ray-gun, how dare you, he could shoot his eyes out!

 

His father showed him something else that day. An old guitar that he strummed until it’s strings were taut and in-tune and he let Patrick put his fingers on the frets while he strummed and sang songs to the kids outside, Hailey, Andy, Jeremy, and a few kids Patrick couldn’t remember the names of.

 

It sprinkled that day, even if the sun still shined. Thick, warm drops that tickled Patrick's face.

 

* * *

 

 

When Patrick was five, his mother allowed his father to teach him how to shoot, if only because of a small party of Dracs had been spotted so close to their tiny town.

 

Hayley was so jealous she didn't speak to him for a week.

 

He wasn’t very good at it, but his father rewarded him for all his hard work by teaching him a few riffs on his guitar, Patrick was much better at it than shooting.

 

He also started his collection then.

 

Craft feathers and metal toys decorated the shelves in the space he called his bedroom, he didn’t like to share though, and even yelled at Andy when he snuck into his room and stuck the earrings Patrick found in his face. Leaving one stuck in his bottom lip that made Patrick frown whenever he looked at it.

 

Ben Barlow turned two that year, and Patrick saw Aladdin for the first time in ages. He looked older still, and Patrick didn’t even flinch when Ben’s blood was spilled for desert.

 

He went to shake Aladdin’s hand with all the adults and Aladdin smiled. He said that he was becoming a man and Destroya was proud of him. Patrick still did not understand Destroya, even though his parents thank her for every year they are alive.

 

Aladdin would tell him soon, when he was old enough to truly understand who Destroya was. Leaving Patrick questioning how he could be becoming a man and yet not be old enough.

 

* * *

 

 

When Patrick turned six, his father shed his own blood to thank Destroya for his life, and he cried for his father’s scarred hand.

 

He kept learning the guitar, and Hayley bothered him so much that he never forgot to practice shooting, even if he got annoyed with his mother breathing down his and his father’s necks whenever he practiced. Ben Barlow, now three, would count how many times it took Patrick to finally make a shot and hit a can off the box. Which only served to make him miss more.

 

His father gave him real advice that day.

 

“Ben Barlow doesn’t care how you feel because he’s three,” He looked Patrick in the eye, “Whenever you miss a shot, it makes him laugh and keep counting, but when you’re up against someone real, they won’t laugh, because you have this.” He shook the ray-gun with one hand. “Someone real doesn’t care whether you hit them or not, they care that you’re one shot closer to hitting them.”

 

Patrick focused, like his father told him, staring at the aluminum cans as hard as he could.

 

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

 

Fire.

 

* * *

 

 

When Patrick is seven, strangers enter his tiny village for the first time.

 

They are brothers, Johnny, Dee Dee, and Joey, who is dragged behind them, bloodied and coughing. They explain in hurried words, they had gotten in a Clap with a few Dracs, Joey got hit, they are Killjoys, please help.

 

Killjoys like Aladdin Sane.

 

Ben Barlow’s mom was a nurse in Battery City, and she rushes forward, inviting the brothers into her home. Little Ben Barlow is afraid of them, and stays with Hayley that night.

 

He is probably the only one who got any sleep.

 

Patrick stays awake all night, listening to Joey cry in pain and fear. Until the breaking of dawn, when cries of pain were replaced with cries of sadness and anger. Joey had died. Leaving Dee Dee and Johnny behind to curse Battery City and BL/ind.

 

Patrick met them outside Ben Barlow’s house, picking at the sand and crying silent tears. He gave them a pair of small red glasses from his collection as a way of saying sorry, and Dee Dee stared at him in either amazement or confusion.

 

The brothers stayed and watched as his parents and the rest of the adults buried Joey, thanking Destroya for his full life and asking her to welcome him into her arms. Aladdin Sane seemed to always show up at the right time. He shed blood over Joey’s grave and the brothers followed his lead. He left with Joey’s Killjoy mask and didn’t even look at Patrick.

 

* * *

 

 

When Patrick was eight, a man calling himself Tommy Chow Mein rolled into town in a big, paint splattered van. He smiled like he had a secret and his dark eyes held them. He was a merchant, he told them, and he slid the van’s door open. He waved his hands and talked about everything they could buy, from hair dye to a new sweater to old CDs from before the Wars.

 

Patrick had never heard of half of it and wanted all of it. Everything was so _colorful,_ it almost hurt his eyes. Hayley tried to grab at sparkly shirt and Tommy stopped her, chuckling, “Sorry young lady, no carbons, no touching.”

 

Patrick’s father was the first to bite, presenting Tommy with a small card and pointing at a little brown box decorated with graffiti and tiny round dials. Chow Mein smiled even wider and shook his father's hand.

 

No one hesitated after that, surrounding the van as Tommy advertised his wares: “Recent Drac attacks getting you down? Why not get a new Blaster for you or that special someone? Got a Crash-Queen in the family? I’ve got all the fuel you need!”

 

Jeremy, now sixteen, brushed past Patrick and his mother, a card of credits held toward Tommy, asking about fuel for his dad’s old Chevy. His mom squeezed his shoulder, and he knew why, teenagers always left, and sometimes they returned broken.

 

“Stay with your father.” She says, and Patrick doesn’t get the chance to ask why when she disappears into the crowd around Tommy Chow Mein.

 

He does not know what she buys, and she does not show him.

 

Tommy drives away in a cloud of dust, and his father guides him back to the house, clutching his brown box.

 

“It’s a radio,” He tells Patrick. “Maybe we can play music.” His voice is so hopeful that it infects Patrick too, and he spends awhile watching his father spin the dials and adjust the antenna, only picking up different types of static.

 

His father gets frustrated and grumbles at the radio, and Patrick feels his eyes drooping. For a moment there is only white noise, and then, a voice, clear and concise. The voice introduces itself as Andrew, reporting for Fact News. There was a moment of happiness that appeared in his dad’s eyes that disappeared just as quickly, and his mother appeared, screaming at him to turn it off, turn it off, TURN IT OFF!

 

Her eyes were wild and angry like Patrick had never seen, and he almost fell from his chair at the kitchen table trying to get away from her. He buries his head in the pillow on his tiny bed and his mother is there again, apologizing and kissing his hair, saying, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Over and over again.

 

Days go by and his father doesn’t stop turning the dials, adjusting the antenna, only to come up with more static, more static, and more static.

 

In this time, Jeremy leaves with his friend Taylor, wearing blue and orange masks, respectively, and Hayley cries. Ben Barlow’s uncle gets dusted in Clap with some Draculoids. Aladdin Sane does not show up to give him to Destroya so Patrick’s mother does it for him, giving blood to the desert, and reciting the prayer she knows by heart.

 

* * *

 

 

On the day Patrick decides he is nine, his father takes the radio out again and says he will find something this time. His mother leaves the house and comes back in moments later. Telling Patrick to practice his shooting, he quickly complies, his mother _never_ wants him to practice shooting.

 

He has no hope that his father will find anything but Andrew from Fact News.

 

Hayley comes by to glumly stare into space, which she has been doing since Jeremy and Taylor left all those months ago, until Patrick offers her a turn. He had been able to shoot the cans since he turned six, and he was bit bored of unmoving targets. Sometimes, Andy and a few other kids would come by and balance the cans on their heads or hands and run around for Patrick to shoot them off, which only gave his mother another chance to yell at them for ‘endangering their lives’.

 

The sound of static would sometimes bounce through the thin walls of his home and reach his ears and he would sigh as a way to block it out.

 

Until he heard laughter. His parents were laughing, which had only happened about once before in Patrick’s lifetime. He found them dancing around the kitchen table to some heavy drum and guitar beat, words indistinguishable but relatable at the same time. Words came through as the song faded out, calm and collected, and his parents laughed and hugged each other, then hugged Patrick and he laughed with them.

 

“Coming at you live from the Zones, it’s me, like always, Dr. Death Defying! News is always new, and the music is always wild!” Patrick stared at the radio, formerly an useless brown box, now a source of happiness. “Reports from Zone 5, a lot of Dracs been spotted out there lately, stay safe Motorbabies! Always check your six and keep your blaster ready!”

 

* * *

 

 

When Patrick turned ten, a group of Draculoids was spotted only a mile outside their camp. A small party went out to confront them. The sky turned gray in their absence.

 

His father didn’t come back that day.

 

The rest of the group carried him back on their shoulders, his face red with blood and his blue mask askew. His mother only gave halting sobs as they laid him in the sand, reaching out with a shaking hand to touch his body, but she could only hover over him. Patrick couldn’t cry, he felt like he should, but all he could do was stare.

 

Hayley’s mother tried to hand his own mother the mask, but all she could do was look at it. So it was handed to him. He held it by its thin band of string on his side. “It…” he blinked, “It can’t be him.” His mother sobbed and reached out to grip his shoulders, he pushed her away. “No! It isn’t him!” It started to sprinkle, small drops, cold and sharp. “It can’t be him, you can’t even see his face!”

“Patrick…” His mother whispered, her face red and blotchy, covered in tears. She reached to touch his face.

 

“No, mom!” Patrick slapped her hand away, “It isn’t him! He was a Killjoy mom! Killjoys can’t die!” He squeezed the mask in his hands. “He got away mom! He put a mask on a dead Draculoid,” His breathing was heavy and he didn’t know why. “It’s not him! It’s not him! He ran away to keep us safe!”

 

The group stared at him sadly, shaking their heads, saying no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Patrick.

 

“IT’S NOT HIM!” He yelled, and his mother wailed, throwing herself on the body, crying onto its bloody face. “Where did he go!?” and it rained harder and harder as he asked them, “Where did he go!? Where is my dad?”

 

The sky was black as he ran, lightning creating false daylight, and his mother yelled for him. “Patrick! Patrick, please!” Until her voice faded behind him. Until there was only sand, wet and muddy in the pouring rain. His eyes clouded and he realized he was finally crying, he coughed and sobbed into the rain.

 

He would get lost if he kept running.

 

A low rumble sounded in the distance, and Aladdin Sane was pulling him onto the back of his motorcycle, and Patrick cried against his back. Clutching his father’s mask to his chest.

 

The rain slowed when Patrick couldn’t cry anymore, and Aladdin stopped the bike, turning on his own little metal radio to listen to a slow, meandering, tune Patrick could barely hear the words to. Aladdin sat in the sand next to him and said: “Do you remember when you asked me who Destroya really was?”

 

Patrick remembers when Ben Barlow turned two, if only because he was eerily quiet when Aladdin cut his hand, but right now he just couldn’t remember anything. “I don’t care about Destroya anymore.”

 

“I told you I would tell you when you were old enough to understand what I was saying. It was a mistake, Patrick, one that I will make right.” Patrick stared at him.

 

“Destroya,” Aladdin thought for a bit, “Is the reason you are alive, and also the reason your father is not. She is forgiving and kind and looks after you, Patrick. But, she is also angry and ruthless and the reason good men die. The desert belongs to her, while some may say that she _is_ the desert. When you gave your blood all those years ago, Destroya accepted you into her desert by blessing you with rain. I hadn’t seen rain in so long Patrick, so don’t tell me you don’t care about Destroya. When you know in your soul that she is the only one that has kept you and your family and village safe all these years.

 

Patrick wanted to scream. Because he did know that. He already knew who Destroya was when he asked all that time ago, and his father knew too.

 

Now his father was dead.

 

Dead. Gone, and soon to be buried.

 

“Why did you leave your mother, Patrick?” Aladdin asks him, seeming like he is a million miles away.

 

“Because…” Patrick doesn't know the answer.

 

The song on the radio ends and Dr. Death-Defying’s calm voice drifts through the speakers, giving his usual report.

 

“Tragedy in Zone 5 today Killjoys… Former Killjoy and family man, The Outsider, gave his colors when a clap with a few Draculoids went Costa Rica… He was the original Crash-Queen, Motorbabies… Show some respect to Zone 5, even though The Outsider is dead and gone… He’s still a Killjoy, and Killjoys…”

 

Aladdin revved the motorcycle’s engine, and Patrick felt like crying again.

 

“Killjoys never die.”

  
**[ .-.. .. -.- . / ... --- -- . .-- .... . .-. . / .--. .- ... - / - .... . / . -. -.. / --- ..-. / - .... . / .-- --- .-. .-.. -.. ]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might be confused by the different writing style, but it's because I want every character to have their own voice. Like Brendon's, Rapid, panicked, and constantly shifting focus. Or Andy, who lives in small moments, forgetting the static in-between because of his addiction.
> 
> Or Patrick, who lives in snapshots, taking pictures of his memories but forgetting they weren't perfect.
> 
> Also, WOW, longest chapter to date! Everyone mentioned by name in this chapter is a reference to a real person, can you guess them all?


	4. and After

**[ .. - / .. ... / -. --- - / -.. . .- - .... / - .... .- - / .- / -- .- -. / ... .... --- ..- .-.. -.. / ..-. . .- .-. ]**

 

Patrick thinks he is seventeen by now, and with such an age came masks and ray-guns. His mother painted over his father's mask, yellow and blue, he is a Killjoy now. Hayley follows along behind with a black and red mask, calling herself Secret Lover. Which isn’t the weirdest name Patrick had heard, Andy had left a while ago, his mask just black and gray, calling himself: ‘Sixx’.

 

“Two X’s.” He had stressed, making Patrick roll his eyes so hard he felt like they should have fallen out. Ben Barlow ran names with him constantly, some of them too simple or too complicated, but it was just too hard to imagine little Ben Barlow with a mask and a blaster.

 

His little collection wasn’t so little anymore either, now that he could leave whenever he wanted. Old medications and drugs had become a specialty of his. So much so he began to sell them, with first aid included, he was no Death Tech, but if he could help people, he would.

 

“The Killjoy, Sixx, that’s two X’s Beta-Bugs! Is known for working alone… but last night he was joined in a firefight with a few Dracs by a new Killjoy with a red color scheme… Who is this new Desert Queen? Will we see her again?” DJ Hot Chimp’s rough voice buzzed through the radio. “Even more news Tumbleweeds! Our ever conquering Zone 5 Death Tech, Daylight Drug, has a new shipment of smuggled materials. Feeling under the weather? You know where--”

 

Patrick flipped the switch, turning the box off. “Hey!” Hayley protested, “I was listening to that! They were talking about me and Sixx!”

 

“For like two seconds!” Patrick argued back, “Hot Chimp doesn’t even know your name, all she does is gossip… and I wish she would stop calling me a Death Tech!”

 

“But you are a Death Tech!”

 

“No! I’m not, all I do is sell medication, and offer first aid. I can’t diagnose a disease or perform surgery--”

 

“You give yourself absolutely no credit, Patrick.” His mother said behind him.

 

“Hey, mom…” Patrick smiled and hugged her, and she kissed his cheek.

 

“I have something for you.” She held a box in front of her and Patrick motioned for Hayley to leave. She rolled her eyes but left anyway, taking the radio with her.

 

“Come and sit down.” Patrick led his mother to the table.

 

“I wanted to give you this Patrick, after all this time…” His mother pushed the box toward him.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Well open it!” His mother waved her hands.

 

“A Blaster?” Patrick asked her. Inside the box, sat a white ray-gun, painted yellow and blue to match his mask. “Mom I… can’t accept this… I still have dad’s and--”

 

“Your father’s is falling apart! I’ve had this since you were eight, and I’ve only used it once. It would make me feel better if you had it.”

 

“And it would me feel better if I know you have something to protect yourself with… Please, mom, keep it?”

 

Her expression was not of someone who wanted to keep it. “Please?” He pushed the gun back towards her and she sighed.

 

“You just wait, Patrick!” She took the box back, “Just wait, you’ll get in a firefight and that dusty thing will fall apart in your own hands!”

 

“Thank you, mom.” He said as sweetly as he could manage.

 

“Yeah, yeah.” His mother sighed.

 

“Hey! Daylight! You got customer's!” Hayley yelled from outside, and Patrick could hear the commotion. Little kids shouting and welcoming them.

 

“Okay, Hayley! Just a moment!” He slipped his mask on.

 

“For the millionth time! Call. Me. Secret. Lover!”

 

“Got it Hayley!”

 

Hayley whispered swear words at him when he stepped out into the sun. He only gave a shark toothed grin in exchange.

 

A rusty old car rolled into his small village, painted bright colors that the smaller kids ran their hands along in awe, yelling at their parents to come and see. Ben Barlow appeared next to him and Patrick asked, “What can you tell me?”

 

“Well, two guys, I think they’re like brothers or something,” Ben Barlow shrugged, “And the blond one hurt his leg real bad… I think they’re both a little dehydrated honestly.”

 

“Thanks, Ben,” He pushed through the small crowd of kids who had gathered around the front of the car. They greeted the driver, a short fellow with dyed red hair, by putting their hands on his colorful blue jacket. He smiled and said hello to them and then held a hand out for Patrick to shake.

 

“Are you Daylight Drug? The guy Hot Chimp was telling us about on the radio?” His voice was soft but commanding, obviously worried about his brother.

 

“That's me, yes.” Patrick shook his hand. “I hear your brother hurt his leg pretty badly, would you like me to take a look?”

 

“Um, yes, do you think you can patch him up?”

 

“Well, I’m no Death Tech… But I know what I’m doing.” Patrick shooed the kids away, and they groaned in protest. Then he motioned for Hayley, “Can you set up a table inside to set him on? I don’t want him to sit in the sand.” She nodded and scurried away.

 

The boy opened the passenger side door, and Patrick was greeted with the smell of blood. He crinkled his nose, it was everywhere, on the seat, the floor, and even the dashboard. The owner of said blood was propped up on the seat, his head lolling to one side. “Holy smokes, how did this happen?” Patrick asked as he grabbed the boy in the car under the arms. “Grab his feet.” He directed at Ben Barlow.

 

“He hurt it a week ago, in a firefight, so we wrapped it up and he said it was okay…” The kid grabbed at his hair, almost pulling it out in cherry red clumps.

 

“Uh, this is the definition of _not_ okay, man.” Ben Barlow raised his eyebrows, “Why would he lie? How did he reopen it if he said it was fine?”

 

“I don’t know… he never tells me anything, I guess he just didn’t want me to worry… Plus he doesn’t like Zone 5, he probably just wanted to get home soon as possible.” He held on to his brothers back as they set him on the table. Patrick ripped the kid's skinny jeans by the seam and told Ben Barlow to grab the Acid Rain, a cheap but strong alcohol, and the bandages. He ran out as soon as his mother came in with some water.

 

“So who are you guys anyway?” Hayley pulled the kid away from his brother so Patrick could take a look uninterrupted.

 

“Um, I’m Ger-- uh, Party Poison, and that's my brother, Kobra Kid.”

 

“I’m Secret Lover, and you already know the good doctor,” Hayley smiled.

 

“Not a doctor,” Patrick muttered, and took the Acid from Ben Barlow, and dabbed a cloth of it onto the gash. Kobra Kid moaned in pain and tried to sit up, and Hayley rushed over to grab his shoulders to hold him down.

 

“Shit! Stop!” Party Poison rushed forward, only to be held back by Ben Barlow.

 

“It’s fine! It’s fine! He’s just cleaning it!” Ben Barlow yelled, “There’s a lot more, so go outside if you can’t sit through it, but we are not going to hurt your brother, okay?”

 

Party Poison wrung his hands.

 

“Okay?” Ben Barlow asked.

 

“Okay… okay.” Poison nodded.

 

Patrick motioned to his mother, who grabbed a small bag before walking over to him. “Okay, so I can’t stitch it…”

 

“Of course,” She patted his shoulder, “Go and tell his brother about the drugs for the pain and I’ll get everything sorted out.”

 

Patrick smiled and kissed her on the cheek. “Poison! Follow me.” He waved at him, “You can pay for everything and I’ll show you around.”

 

* * *

 

 

Kobra Kid hobbled out the door two hours later, tired, but hydrated, and Poison thanked them, along with every little kid he could get his hands on.

 

“He loves kids,” Kobra sighed, “A little _too_ much if you ask me.” Hayley snorted. “Thank you, by the way.” He shook Patrick’s hand. “I was kind of an idiot, I thought it would be okay…”

 

“Just don’t do it again okay? I don’t want to see you again unless it’s a friendly visit, and remember to take those pills for the _pain_ and not to get high!” Patrick jammed a finger into Kobra Kids chest. He laughed and pulled Party Poison away from a kid running his hands through his red hair.

 

Poison sat begrudgingly behind the wheel. “Oh gross!” Kobra Kid opened the passenger side door. “Why didn’t you clean this blood up? That’s disgusting!”

 

“Then sit in the backseat!” Poison yelled at him, “It’s _your_ blood, so _you_ clean it up!”

 

Patrick waved as they drove off, and they honked twice as a farewell, The large black spider on the hood of the car glinted in the sunlight.

 

“I think I’m gonna dye my hair…” Hayley said beside him. “Not the same color as Poison obviously, but…”

 

“Do you ever think about anything but yourself?” Ben Barlow whined.

 

“Sure, sometimes I think about how to make you look stupid, but you always do that by yourself.”

 

Ben Barlow blew a raspberry in her face.

 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks later, Patrick was woken up in the middle of the night by a banging the door of his and his mother's house. “Patrick! Daylight! Dracs! A lot of them!” Ben Barlow, of course.

 

He calmed his mother down, pulling a blanket around her shoulders before answering the door. Groggy and rubbing his eyes. “Oh thank Destroya! Okay, some Draculoids, well not some, more like _all of them_ \--”

 

“Calm down, how do you know?” Patrick yawned, stretching to wake himself up.

 

“You’re never gonna believe me but,” Ben Barlow yawned in response to Patrick. “It’s Jeremy and Taylor! Well, they go by Crash and Lightning now, which is kind of stupid if you ask me, but it’s them!” He had already forgotten about his previous warning.

 

“What about the _Draculoids_ Ben? Why are Taylor and Jeremy back?”

 

“Oh, uh… follow me, I’ll tell you, and bring your mask and ray gun!”

 

Patrick complied, waking his mother up again and telling her to stay alert. Then followed Ben Barlow to the edge of town where everyone else was gathering, speaking in hushed voices and hugging Jeremy and Taylor.

 

“They say they’ve been following this group of Dracs for a week, camping out in different zones, leading up to ours.” Ben Barlow pointed at the two Killjoys. “They say they’re lead by a Scarecrow! Real mean looking guy too, when Jeremy found out they were heading here, he told Taylor and they packed up and drove as fast as they could to warn us!”

 

“But how did they find us? Zone 5 is past the range of BLi’s Spy Flies!” Hayley joined them.

 

“I can answer that,” Aladdin Sane pushed through the crowd, smiling at Patrick. “You’re not gonna like it though.”

 

“Aladdin!” Patrick hugged him, quickly, and Aladdin patted his back. “What do you mean? Why are you here? Not to be rude, but you don’t show up just for social calls…”

 

“Maybe I should start…” Aladdin pushed his white goggles onto his forehead. “They traced you through carbons, Patrick, not _your_ name, your Killjoy name, Daylight Drug. It became recognized whenever you charged for painkillers, Daylight Drug became a taboo in BL/ind’s system… I don’t know what they think they’ll accomplish by sending a group of Drac’s and Exterminators, but when this is over, you need to think about changing your name.”

 

“That’s not all Aladdin,” Hayley responded, “Crash and Lightning said they’re being lead by someone… a Scarecrow.”

 

Aladdin swore, “Then we need to leave. Scarecrows are the highest ranking BLi employees Patrick! We need to get everyone out!”

 

“No way!” Ben Barlow shouted, “We leave now, it means BLi wins! It means we’re cowards! Are we cowards?” He shouted to the crowd.

 

“NO!” the group shouted back, “DEATH TO THE SCARECROW!”

 

“Then we’re doomed,” Aladdin sighed, whispering to Patrick. “But I will stay here and fight with you…”

 

“May Destroya have mercy on us…” Patrick grinned and grabbed Aladdin’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

 

They waited for the Draculoids all day, downing cans of pop and Slam Chasers. They played loud, rage-fueled music, and did target practice on some dusty Drac masks. The children that couldn’t shoot or were just too young hid in Ben Barlow’s house with his mother, and the stockroom filled with Patrick’s collection of drugs and painkillers was locked tight.

 

Patrick sat on the roof of his house with Aladdin and Sixx, who had dropped by to fight with his family. He smoked a whole pack of cigarettes out of stress, and the smoke made Patrick sneeze.

 

When they finally saw the group of Dracs and Exterminators in the distance, Patrick immediately knew they had made a mistake by staying. It was such a big group, and when Aladdin lent him some binoculars, he could see the man they called a Scarecrow immediately.

 

He was bald, dark eyes, and held a sour expression. He was wrapped in a long gray coat and white clothing that was the staple of Battery City.

 

Patrick was afraid.

 

The sky grew cloudier and cloudier as they drew closer, and everyone went quiet and somber as they lined up at the edge of town to meet the Scarecrow.

 

There wasn’t even a standoff. The Scarecrow pulled his ray-gun from its holster and shot a kids kneecap from half a mile away, and Draculoids sprinted past him. Ben Barlow barely started a war cry when they were upon them.

All he could say was, “Shit!”

 

Chaos was an understatement. Patrick pulled his mask over his eyes and shot a Draculoid through the chest, turning away so he didn’t have to see the body fall.

 

The radio was silenced, and Patrick wished it hadn’t been. It had previously masked the sounds of ray-guns and screaming. He braced himself against a wall, turning around the corner once in awhile to shoot.

 

His breathing was heavy, and he ran when a corner of his wall was blasted away. The Scarecrow stood in the middle of it all, his face blank, and his long gray coat swirling around him.

 

The stockroom door had been blasted open, along with the walls. Medication sprinkled the ground in some sort of morbid storm. Patrick watched his family die that day.

 

Some laughing, drunk, and taking as many Dracs with them as they could.

 

Some quiet and crying, and Patrick cried with them, silent tears saying: _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry_.

 

They had made a mistake. It was over before it had even started.

 

Ben Barlow’s home was destroyed, and with it, lives that hadn’t even started yet. Patrick felt hatred for Ben Barlow in that moment, it dispersed and only left sadness, and Patrick cried.

 

It rained, hard and fast, drops that stung his face like needles.

 

“Keep going, Patrick!” Sixx yelled at him, sprinting by, shooting at the Dracs, screaming as they chased after him. Patrick raised his shaky hand to shoot one of them down, too slow, and a blast from a ray gun hit it.

 

His father’s ray-gun crumbled in his hands, falling to pieces in the sand. “No.” Patrick breathed, and Aladdin was beside him.

 

“I’ll cover you! Don’t think about the children! You can do that when we are done here!”

 

Patrick stared down at a little girls’ empty eyes, he couldn’t recall her name.

 

Why was this happening? Why did BLi want his family dead? _Why are they doing this?_

 

_It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault, it’s my fault myfaultmyfualtmyfault._

 

“Patrick!” Aladdin shook his shoulders, “You need another gun! Don’t give up now!”

 

He does not remember the sprint to his mother’s house, or what was left of it. But he dug through the rubble anyway, where was it? _Where is his mother?_

 

He ripped the box open, grabbing the gun inside. The grip fit perfectly in his hand, and the battery hummed with electricity.

 

Patrick shivered, with fear, or the because of his rain-soaked clothes he didn’t know.

 

“Patrick!” Hayley shouted.

 

The fighting had stopped while he had been digging in the rubble, and rain poured, turning the whole world dark.

 

An Exterminator held a gun to the back of his head.

 

“Stand up, and holster your weapon.” The Scarecrow spoke, his voice low and rumbling, scratching at Patrick’s ears. “Put your weapon down, or this boy dies!”

 

Ben Barlow stood, the barrel of a ray gun pushed into his forehead.

 

Patrick did as he asked.

 

“Good, now,” The Scarecrow faced them, Patrick’s now smaller family. “Where is the man who calls himself Daylight Drug? Or did we kill him already?”

 

Patrick opened his mouth.

 

“No!” Ben Barlow interrupted, “It’s me! I… I am Daylight Drug!”

 

The Scarecrow turned, “Are you sure? You look barely older thirteen…”

 

Ben Barlow shrunk under his gaze.

 

“It’s me.” Patrick said, “ _Please,_ leave him alone, _I’m_ Daylight Drug.”

 

Thunder shook the ground, and the Scarecrow pushed Ben Barlow onto the ground. “What do you say to that?”  Ben shuffled backward. “You stick up for your friend once, and then what? You quit? You are nothing but a coward, _boy._ So, run, like the coward you know you are, so you don’t have to watch your friend die.” Ben Barlow stared up at him. “RUN!” The Scarecrow yelled in his face, and Ben Barlow crawled away, before sprinting into the desert.

 

The Scarecrow waved his gun at an Exterminator, “Make sure he doesn’t get far.”

 

Patrick watched as Ben Barlow’s silhouette disappeared over a sand dune, Exterminators chasing after him.

 

A new gun was shoved into his face. The Scarecrow’s.

 

“Do you know why this had to happen, _Daylight Drug?_ Do you know why your friends, your family, and your children are dead?”

 

Patrick stared at him.

 

“Because you became a liability to Better Living Industries, If we just let you take care of every rebel that came here, needing medical attention, we might have a problem. You don’t want Better Living Industries to have a problem do you?”

 

Patrick didn’t answer.

 

“No, you don’t.” The Scarecrow turned his head to look at the of his friends who still stood. “Let this be a lesson to you all, rebellion to Better Living Industries is futile. Any more rule breaking, even in the Zones, will be punished.”

 

Hayley sobbed, hugging Taylor. Both of them with ray-guns pointed at their heads. Jeremy stood a foot away, glaring at the Draculoid who pressed his blaster into his forehead.

 

The Scarecrow scowled at him, “Punished,” He repeated, “Like now.” He squeezed the trigger of his ray-gun. There was a flash of lightning, and Patrick’s world went dark

 

* * *

 

 

“NO!” Hayley screeched. She watched his body fall to the ground, and she felt her ears ring. Except, no, they weren’t.

 

Someone was screaming.

 

Patrick’s mother.

 

Her wet hair clung to her face, and her eyes seemed to glow whenever lightning struck, making her seem possessed. She stumbled forward toward the Scarecrow, screeching, “ _You killed my son! My child!”_

 

The Scarecrow, blank-faced and unemotional, swung his ray-gun toward her, the blast from it caught her in the stomach.

 

Hayley felt Taylor flinch in her arms. “He missed.”

 

The Scarecrow took a small step back in surprise, and she sprinted towards him, seemingly unaffected by her bleeding stomach. She brandished Aladdin Sane’s silver knife in front of her, and threw herself onto the Scarecrow, burying the knife into his shoulder, just above his heart.

 

He pushed her off, sobbing, onto her son. She clutched her stomach, crying fat tears onto Patrick’s blank face. “ _You killed him, my baby,_ ” She sobbed, coughing, and Hayley could barely hold back her own tears. “ _You killed my baby!_ ”

 

The Scarecrow gripped the hilt of the blade in his shoulder, barely grimacing when he pulled it out, it clattered onto the ground, covered in red. Thunder and lightning covered the sound of the blast of his ray-gun, and Patrick’s mother lay on top of her son, clutching his face, unmoving.

 

“Let this be a lesson to you all,” The Scarecrow’s voice rumbled low over the stinging rain, “You are not above Better Living Industries.”

 

* * *

 

 

When he opened his eyes, he stared down the beak of a raven, into its black eyes. It was perched on his chest, and when it cawed he flinched, causing the startled bird to lift off in a flurry of nervous feathers.  

 

The sun hurt his eyes, and he had to squint to see anything properly.

 

“Hello, Patrick,” A voice, somehow thin and raspy, yet melodic and full at the same time.

 

He blinked to get used to the light, and stood to see the owner of it.

 

She, if it even was a She, was covered in smooth black feathers, like a dress, that rippled with her every move, and a white carved mask concealed her face. Her long, thin arms were covered in aging bandages, as were her legs. Golden jewelry hung from her neck and wrists.

 

She didn’t walk, instead, she glided over the hot sand like a ghost.

 

The Phoenix Witch. Death herself.

 

She picked a purple mask off of one of his dead friends and placed it in a shopping cart.

 

Patrick stared down at his hands, realizing them to be transparent. “Am I dead?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

 

“Of course, what else would you be after that?” She pointed a long finger at something behind him.

 

_His body._

 

Bloody in the face, dirty, mask askew. Of course.

 

His mother lay almost on top of him, clutching his red face, crying frozen tears. “My mother…” He swallowed the lump in his throat, “Will my mother be okay?”

 

“She’s dead so, yes.”

 

Her voice gave Patrick a strange sense of calm, and yet, he could still see flashes of the Scarecrow, his friends, family, of Ben Barlow fleeing into the desert.

 

“You must make peace, Patrick, or you will not rest.” The Witch stared at him through shadowy holes in her mask.

 

“All this, all these people, are dead,” He looked away from the Witch, gazing at his mother’s expressionless face, “Because of me.”

 

“Thinking like that, you will become a restless spirit, and I can’t simply return you to life to seek vengeance.” She tilted her head, and grabbed his chin with bandaged fingers, turning his head to face her. “Destroya might favor you…”

 

“I don’t deserve anything Destroya might give to me…” Patrick couldn’t look the Phoenix Witch in the eye. “All I’ve succeeded in doing is bringing death to her desert.”

 

“Now you know that’s not true,” The Witch released his chin and faced the palm of her hand toward the sky. “The rain is really coming down, isn’t it?”

 

“What?” Patrick stared up at the bright blue sky. “There’s not a cloud in sight...” The Witch stared at him through the shadows of her mask, and he was about to ask her what she meant when he suddenly felt a hard pull on his back. He fell backward, like he was being sucked through a straw.

 

Galaxies of stars flashed in front of his eyes and he heard voices, calling his name.

 

 _“Patrick!”_ Hayley? _“Patrick please!”_

 

He could see her green eyes.

 

 _“Hayley, stop!”_ Jeremy grabbed her shoulders, _“We have to leave, he’s gone Hayley, he’s gone!”_

 

“ _Hayley…_ ” Patrick could barely open his eyes, “ _Hayley…_ ” He watched as she jumped into the back of Crash and Lightning’s old Chevy. “ _Wait_ …”

* * *

 

 

Patrick finally snapped back into his body with a deep, shuddering breath, rain soaked him to the bone and every part of his body was numb. He pushed himself forward, attempting to stand, his mother’s hands fell from his face and he only succeeded in landing on his hands and knees.

 

Patrick had to stare at his fingers, once transparent during his visit with the Phoenix Witch, they were now an ugly, ash gray. He forced himself to look away, and struggled to stand. Thick drops of dark blood fell to the wet sand from his face, his forehead.

 

He had seen his body, he knew what happened, and yet the wound blistered from heat as if fresh.

 

He couldn’t feel his toes or even his legs, and he stumbled over everything. Lightning tore through the pitch dark sky and the light burned his eyes. He tripped over what looked like someone’s bloody arm and he fell almost face-first into the sand, his father’s mask tumbled to the ground in front of him.

 

The smoking rubble of the stockroom surrounded him, drugs and pill bottles lay scattered, some medication melted in the rain, creating a cloudy, white river through the sand. A little pill bottle floated through it, amazingly intact, and it came to rest next to Patrick, he clutched at it like a lifeline.

 

Patrick braced himself against the ground, and his back arched as coughs racked his body, tearing his throat to shreds. Thick black blood splattered onto the sand and he almost threw up more at the sight of it.

 

He wobbled, trying to straighten himself as he stood. He walked, because that was all he could do.

 

Everyone was dead. Others, he just didn’t know, but _kids,_ his mother, his friends, _family._

 

Everything was gone, taken, by BLi, even his name.

 

It rained all the way, in sheets, or knives, or even small drizzle, never stopping. Lightning burned his eyes and thunder made him stumble. He doesn’t know how long he wandered.

 

A small building, a shack really, crept into his field of vision with each step he took. Its walls were covered in spray paint and posters, its windows were cracked and chipped, and the roof was covered in wires and satellite dishes. The tiny parking lot held a single paint covered van and small speakers sat by the front door.

 

 _“If anyone can hear me through this storm… you should know about the attack in Zone 5.”_ Dr. Death Defying’s voice came through, quiet and staticky. _“A massacre really… kids and parents, Killjoys even. Tumbleweeds like all you Dust Angels out there… It’s not clear how many are ghosted, but it is a confirmed attack aimed directly at Daylight Drug’s service. Killjoys, Slim Sin, Override Warrior, Bleached Lightning, and Shadow Shore are confirmed dust. Crash and Lightning are alive, along with the new Desert Queen, Secret Lover.”_

 

Patrick sighed in relief, and turned to stare at his reflection in the window. He was covered in his own black blood, it turned his teeth red, and made his eyes look bloodshot. Some color had managed to return to his skin, but it still looked gray, like death. The worst part, however, was the wound on his forehead.

 

Bloody and half healed, it made Patrick want to throw up. He cried, all of a sudden.

 

So this was what it meant to be resurrected. Slowly healing like a zombie. His tears were red like blood.

 

 _“The famed Killjoy, Sixx, is alive, and the whereabouts of famous Crash Queen, Aladdin Sane are unknown. Daylight Drug is… unknown, most likely ghosted…”_ Dr. Death Defying’s voice faded and Patrick squeezed the pill bottle he had forgotten he was holding. Daylight Drug is dead. He would confirm it for the Doctor.

 

Thunder boomed when Patrick stepped into the radio station, the lights had been blown out, making the only light source a small candle on the DJ’s workspace.

 

Dr. Death Defying stared at him, slowly reaching for a ray-gun on his desk. Patrick ignored it.

 

 _“You’re right.”_ His voice came out raspy and just above a whisper. _“Daylight Drug is dead… I can’t use that name anymore.”_

 

“You’re Daylight Drug?” Dr. Death asked, almost incredulously.

 

_“Not anymore, that’s how they found me.”_

 

“Are you even a Killjoy anymore?” Dr. Death Defying gripped his ray-gun loosely. “What will you call yourself now if your own _name_ was stolen?” The DJ could only stare at the walking corpse in front of him.

 

Rain pounded the roof, and Patrick locked his eyes on the pill bottle in his hand. He gently placed it on the desk and left out the door when lightning flashed, illuminating the small label on the small cannister.

 

Dr. Death Defying was left alone with only the memory of flashing yellow eyes and a new name.

 

_Benzedrine._

  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All spoken names correspond to real people except the Killjoys Dr Death Defying names off at the end, they are references to a few friends of mine. :) I hope you liked this chapter! I'd love feedback. And also thank you for putting up with two chapters of Patrick!
> 
> http://isecretlydontcareatall.tumblr.com/post/144320429269/i-dont-deserve-anything-destroya-might-give-to  
> Check this link out for a small aesthetic I made!


	5. Direction

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The first time Pete Wentz snuck out of his parents’ house, he had been thirteen. He thought he was hot stuff, sneaking out to meet a few burnout sixteen year olds to smoke pot behind a local pet store.

 

Marijuana made him want to throw up.

 

He thought, _when I get my own place, I won’t have to sneak out, I can just leave._

 

He moved to Battery City with this in mind.

 

 _Bad idea,_ he later learned. _I should have thought ahead._

 

_Battery City sucks ass._

 

People are weird when they take drugs, and Pete thinks it’s his first time realizing this.

 

Ritalin rats freak him out, and the drugs BLi hands out to people freak him out even more.

 

He also feels sorry for Ritalin rats too, Pete’s never been addicted to anything except a girl once in awhile, but whenever he sees them, he feels a sort of camaraderie to them. They forgot which direction they were gonna take with their lives, and Pete’s never known where to point the compass.

 

 _They have fear filled eyes and forgetful minds_ , Pete wants to be a poet… maybe.

 

He still has to sneak out in Battery City.

 

It’s different though.

 

He doesn’t have to be especially quiet, he doesn’t live with anybody. He also doesn’t sneak out to experiment with sex and drugs and alcohol either. He doesn’t think parties are fun when you show up alone to get drunk.

 

Pete likes Battery City at night, but he does have to watch his own back a lot more than in Illinois.

 

The slums are a lot more his speed.

 

Pornodroids are nice and don’t always ask for anything in return if you ask for help. You do have to pay for sex though. Pete doesn’t think he would feel like a good person if he asked for it.

 

The slums aren’t looked after so closely, like in the residential areas. Pete doesn’t like the feeling of someone breathing down his neck, scrutinizing his every movement.

 

_Maybe that’s why I started sneaking out._

 

A thin pea green cloth guarded the door of his destination one night. _Location is often changed, due to BLi’s prying eyes._

 

Pete pushed it out of his way, and it fluttered from a non-existent breeze. Travie says hello to him with just a small wave of two fingers, he barely talks. His needle and ink do that for him.

 

Selling sex and tattoos.That’s what Travie does, and Pete’s cool with both, but leans more toward the latter. He respects Travie, because it’s hard to do this sort of thing in Battery City.

 

He should blow this town.

 

It’s a bit hard to just leave though, Pete doesn’t like to leave, the things he’s built for himself are just getting started. It took him way too long to leave his parents, and he always thinks of going back.

 

Travie snaps some black rubber gloves around his fingers and motions for Pete to sit in the chair. Pete complies, smiling, and rolled up his sleeve, pointing to the outline on his right shoulder. “Think you can finish it Travie?”

 

Travie half-smiled at him, sarcastic, it said: “As long as you can pay me.”

 

The buzzing of the needle filled the small space and Pete talked for the two of them, about his parents and friends back in Illinois. A few of the stories were old and Pete had told them before, but Travie never protested, he knew how Pete was.

 

The first tattoo Pete had ever gotten, he was fifteen, on his lower back, and it was the worst decision he had ever made.

 

Pete loved it so much.

 

He gave Travie as many carbons he could, Pete would give Travie his apartment if he could. He felt as if he never gave enough. Pete wished they celebrated holidays in Battery City, just so he could give gifts.

 

Pete’s apartment is on the cheap side.

 

It was colored gray and black on the inside, because it was hard to keep white clean, and Pete was lazy and didn’t own a vacuum. The key sometimes stuck in the lock and his neighbors were always shouting. But Pete grew used to it, and knew how to jiggle the key just right. He doesn’t think he could sleep without the yelling anymore.

 

Sometimes the sink would leak. Pete doesn’t know how to fix a sink either. He would be useless if he ever got married. He puts a new layer of duct tape over the leak.

 

Sometimes Pete would wake up in his gray sheet bed and feel like an useless piece of shit.

 

He would write a lot of bad poetry and wander around the slums in a cloud of self-hate. He would somehow manage to ruin relationships he wasn’t even in, and make his real friends feel like crap.

 

At Pete’s worst moments, he would consider trying the drugs that had earlier freaked him out, and then Dirty would show up.

 

Dirty was a Bin Rat through and through, living on the streets, and seemed to always make an appearance whenever Pete started to fuck up his life.

 

Dirty was wild and irresponsible, he knew what he wanted though, even though he lived on the streets. Pete knew him from a job fair that he left too early to get an actual job, they both left together to go to some underground bar. It was the first time Pete had ever had a Slam Chaser, and the whiskey blinded him for a few minutes it was so strong.

 

Pete doesn’t know where Dirty goes when Pete doesn’t see him, people tell him that he could find him if he knew where to look. But nobody actually knew where that was.

 

Nevertheless, Dirty showed up in apartment one day, sitting in an old, ratty, armchair. He said: “Heard you were acting like a bitch again.”

 

He lights a fire in a trash can and Pete throws all the really bad poetry in it. He keeps a few, because he’s also a sentimental piece of shit.

 

It’s poetic to see them burn too, even if the words on them are not.

 

Dirty tells him stuff Pete never would have heard in Fact News. Like the disappearances of a few Bin Rats he was close to, and a few zone runners had recently snuck into the city, delivering packages to a ‘Miss Love’.

 

He doesn’t know anyone named Miss Love, which is surprising, because Dirty knows _everyone._

 

Then he leaves, after a week or a few, leaving dust and a trash can fire Pete doesn’t know how to get rid of. It’s a small price to pay for Dirty constantly fixing his life.

 

Pete works at a small grocery store at the edge of the slums called _Food Mart_ , it’s not a great job, if the name is anything to go by. But the paychecks help Pete keep rent, if a little late. His boss takes the drugs during lunch, and probably at breakfast too.

 

His eyes are always strangely empty, and he’s always in a pleasant mood. Pete avoids him like the plague, he doesn’t trust people who are happy all the time.

 

In the rare moments Pete does speak to him, he is bombarded with support for Better Living Industries. Now, Pete didn’t hate BLi, but he was beginning to get annoyed by their rules and his boss’ strange infatuation with them.

 

He stocks shelves with their brand of bread, brand of milk, brand of unfertilized eggs. BLi _this_ , BLi _that, Remember to Smile Today! The Aftermath is Secondary. Who gives a shit?_

 

Lousy Food Mart is bound to go out business if they insist on selling absolute crap. Pete tried their bread once, and threw it out the minute he took a bite.

 

It tasted chalky and filled with chemicals, it’s taste didn’t fade from his tongue for two days.

 

Sometimes Ritalin Rats wandered in, looking confused and disheveled and sometimes unaware. They might have planned to go shopping, but forgot halfway and kept going. Or, they just weren’t sure of why they had come this way at all.

 

Pete tried to help them best he could, either find the food they wanted, or just listen to their ramblings about their day. They never made sense, and when they did, it scared Pete. Ritalin Rats could recount tales of being assaulted better than war heroes. They didn’t even completely understand _why_ they were assaulted.

 

One of the saddest things Pete had ever heard was when a gaunt looking woman told him that maybe she had done something to offend the ‘poor boy’ who had given her an ugly purple bruise under her eye. The only thing she had probably done was pop a pill in front of him.

 

Once, when Pete was working the register, a small girl had collapsed, bringing a whole shelf of off-brand chips with her. He rushed to help, and almost faltered when she saw her spitting foam from her mouth.

 

Jenna, a co worker whose life was going farther than his own rushed past him. She pushed the girl on her side, the plastic bag of chips crackled.

 

Jenna pulled a syringe from nowhere and calmly pushed it into the girl's thigh. Pete turned away, he didn’t like needles unless they pushed art into his skin.

 

The girl grew still.

 

“Is she dead?” Pete asked, he had never seen a dead body before.

 

“No,” Jenna giggled in that sweet way that only girls could. “She overdosed, but it’s okay now.”

 

Pete padded forward, for some reason trying to be quiet.

 

Jenna smiled at the girl, who looked up to touch her face with her tiny hands.

 

“How did you know what to do?” Pete kneels a bit farther away, not wanting to provoke some sort of fight or flight response in the girl.

 

“My boyfriend-” Her smile fades a little, flying away somewhere and leaving baggage behind. “My _ex_ -boyfriend, had a few problems with drugs… So I got some of this stuff from a friend of mine, it’s BLi standard stuff so it’s pretty good actually.” She pulled a small glass bottle from her pocket and showed it to him. A milky substance sloshed around inside. “Stops an overdose in its tracks…”Jenna smiled.

 

Pete didn’t know much about Jenna, she was so secretive.

 

She had mentioned her sort-of-ex boyfriend many times before; Usually with the same reluctance to dive any further.

 

Pete had begun to think it less of a terrible breakup and more of an inability to move on from a disappearance, or something. The way Jenna talked about him, it sounded like he had just up and left one day while she was at work.

 

“I want you to keep it for me,” She suddenly said, and Pete throws his head up in surprise. Jenna took a sharp breath inward. “I’m quitting and… The job I’m taking won’t have many people like this coming in. It would make me feel me feel better if you were here with something to help.”

 

She held out the syringe, and Pete was afraid to grab it, as if he would suddenly snap and jam it into Jenna’s neck in return. “It’s fine,” Jenna stretched a bit further, “Just fill it to the number five and put it in their thigh, always works.”

 

Pete took it and quickly capped the needle, placing it in the pocket of his work apron. He did the same with the small bottle.

 

Jenna didn’t show up for work the next day. Pete was sorry he didn’t officially tell her goodbye.

 

The more he thought about it, he never really saw her again after that. Not even in the neighborhood she always hung out in with her friends. They sat and drank milkshakes in the dim streetlights and Pete sometimes saw them whenever he ran down to Travie’s for another tattoo.

 

Maybe she decided to disappear, just like her boyfriend.

 

Food Mart stayed the same though, same buzzing lights and over saturated food packaging. It made Pete a bit angry, how the loss of someone’s presence didn’t seem to affect the atmosphere. It seemed like Jenna added to the dull store in some way.

 

Now she was gone and there was nothing to remember her by.

 

Pete wondered if Jenna had ever been happy, working in Food Mart. Or maybe she had always held a pensive cloud of doubt and melancholy around herself.

 

His boss forgot her as soon as she stepped out the door, wind rushing through the aisles.

 

Pete would pick up overtime until a replacement was hired. The needle and glass bottle stayed in his work apron, he didn’t dare take it out in case his boss would confiscate it.

 

Cassadee showed up one day, she was bouncy and nervous and picked at her fingernails. She was nosy and Pete didn’t like her very much.

 

She was terrible at working the register and dropped the money and stumble when telling people what they owed.

 

Pete knew he was being harsh when he kicked her out from behind the register and shouted her to restock the shelves, but he’d had enough.

 

Pete didn’t like change and he honestly just wanted to work alone.

 

He apologized after work, when he locked the doors. Cassadee smiled and said: “It’s okay to be angry when you live in Battery City, I’m angry too.”

 

That’s not what Pete meant.

 

He liked Cassadee even less now.

 

The slums of Battery City had an interesting color scheme at night. Lime green, and reds, yellows, blues that twisted through the alleyways, setting a mood that the daytime just couldn’t compete with. It was on one of these beautiful nights he met Ashlee. An orange haired pornodroid, she was out of date, she said, but could still give him a good time. Pete rejected her advances, but told her they could still be friends, as he was with the other pornodroids.

 

Ashlee had turned up her nose at such an offer, thinking it to be an insult. A few other droids had told her it was the truth and Pete kept up a small correspondence with her since then.

 

It was the most toxic relationship he’d ever been in, and impossible to get out of.

 

Pete was angry and confused as he walked away from Food Mart, angry because Jenna was gone and replaced by some girl who thought she knew everything about him. He was confused because his attempt at an apology was made into something he didn’t want to understand.

 

So of _course_ Ashlee appears.

 

She had been getting sicker the longer she got out of date, and black wiring had begun to make shadows under her skin. She asked him: “What did you do now?”

 

“Nothing, go away.”

 

“You must have done something,”Ashlee stared at her amber colored fingernails. “Whenever I see you, you have something new to complain about.”

 

“Jenna quit.” Pete told her, for some reason joining her on her usual route around the slums.

 

“And you’re not a fan of the bitch who replaced her?” Ashlee purred, “I’ve seen her around, she hangs with a few other girls around here. They walk around in tight clothing and think they own the place.

 

Pete’s heard this before, a couple other pornodroids complain about the same girls. Tight leather and high heels. They were all part of a group or something, answering to some head bitch in charge.

 

“The way you’re acting, I’d think you were sweet on Jenna,” Ashlee pulled him around a corner and braced him against a wall. “You are both weird in the head… Birds of a feather flock together?”

 

“Shut up,” He pushed her off and turned his shoulders into the wall, “Jenna had her own problems… and I’m not weird in the head!”

 

“Sure you are,” Ashlee rubbed a hand up his back. “Sometimes you wake up and come down here angry and throwing stuff, acting crazy and scaring the other girls… There is something not right in your head Petey.”

 

Pete doesn’t know how the conversation had suddenly shifted, even though it had never really been in his favor. Ashlee did this to him. She made him act like a person he didn’t like being.

 

It wasn’t a surprise when she pressed her body against his, running her fingers up his thighs. Her lips met his and Pete hates her so much for it.

 

He finally pushed her off with a heavy, “Fuck off!”

 

She stumbled backwards and reapplied her peach colored lipstick. “I gotta go meet Sarah.”

 

Her presence didn’t leave even as she turned the corner, and heat boiled in Pete’s throat, god he hated her so much. His anger usually went towards breaking things and in this case, an already cracked four-paned window.

 

His fist went through the glass and the shards shattered and spun to the ground. He regretted it almost instantly when he saw his bloody knuckles, his adrenaline was up and he couldn’t feel the sting.

 

 _She’s just a pornodroid,_ a voice inside him scolded.

 

Pete just couldn’t shake his habit of getting addicted to people that would only do him harm.

 

Dirty showed up a few minutes later, like the amazing man he was. He said: “Man, you gotta stay away from that chick.”

 

As always, Dirty was right. But Pete would probably run into her again, and he would probably do something even more stupid.

 

Dirty took him up to the roof of some abandoned place and patched his his hand up. Then he told Pete to get Cassadee fired.

 

“She’s bad news man, I’ve seen her with a couple of Miss Love’s girls…” He tied the bandage around Pete’s knuckles. “They’re like a cult or something.”

 

“She’s barely worked a day, and I can't’ just _get_ her _fired_.” Pete’s voice was barely above a whisper. “How do you know so much about this Miss Love crap?”

 

“You won’t find anything about it in Fact News but,” Dirty stared out at the city, at the colorful yet dreary light of the slums, and the white, clean lights of the more residential areas. “But, on the streets… They cause _a lot_ of damage. BLi supporters homes and stores ripped apart, and my friends are getting involved with them all the time. Bin rats like me, or just regular people, they say one thing against BLi and girls show up… Next time I see them, they’re different people. I don't know what Miss Love does to them, make an offer they can’t refuse or just brainwash them. All I know is that you _need to get rid of Cassadee._

 

Pete had never seen Dirty like this, flustered and afraid. “...Okay,” Pete agreed, if only to calm him down, “I’ll see what I can do…”

 

“Good,” Dirty still looked worried for him, “I’ll walk you back to your apartment.”

 

“No, it’s fine…”

 

“Are you sure? What if you run into Ashlee?”

 

“Ashlee can suck a Draculoid.” And he was gone. He took a back road to his apartment and was left alone, save for Shane Morris and his asshole friends calling him names from across the street.

 

His job kept being terrible, and his promise to Dirty made it worse. Pete was terrible at deception, and trying to make Cassadee mess up so badly to get her fired was like trying to swallow poker dice.

 

Possible, but no way was Pete going to succeed.

 

He sat behind the register with his notebook and pencil, writing bad poetry and doodling swear words in the margins. Cassadee smiled at him whenever he saw her, she was pretty, but her smile held something behind it that put Pete on edge.

 

 _Get her fired,_ Pete reminded himself.

 

_There is no way I can do that._

 

Cassadee stopped him once, before lockup, and handed him a small yellow sheet of paper. “Big get together on Friday by the Getaway Mile,” She smiled, “It’s gonna be crazy, everyone will be there.”

 

“Is it a party?” Pete didn’t take the paper.

 

“Something like that.” She grabbed his hand and forced the paper into his fist, then she left, the bell above the door jingled and a cold wind ripped through Pete’s bones.

 

“Don’t go,” Ashlee was waiting outside the door. She looked worse, black wiring ran up and down her arms, and they extended from her eyes like tears. Her eyes were dull yet they were still filled with fire and anger. “It’s not a party, it’s a riot.”

 

“Maybe I’ll go anyway, you don’t control me.” Pete spat.

 

“Shut up, asshole, and listen to me for once,” Ashlee shoved him against the now locked doors of Food Mart.

 

“No, _you,_ listen to me, for once,” Pete tried pushing her off, “I don’t care anymore Ashlee! I wish I had never met you, all you’ve done is screw me up even more than I was, I _hate_ you.”

 

“I don’t care Pete!” She squeezed his shoulders. “I’m already _dead_ , I could care less what you think of me! Just don’t go to the Getaway Mile Pete, you think _I_ screwed you up? Those bitches will ruin your _useless life_ , you bipolar piece of shit!”

 

“I hope they smash your body into a satellite for Fact News when you finally crash!” Pete almost spit in her face, he yelled so loud.

 

A small _crack!_ On his cheek and the electric crackle of Ashlee's black left hand was the only evidence of the slap, besides the clear fluid that ran down her cheeks from her cloudy eyes.

 

The electricity had burned him, leaving a light, blotchy scar and a thin cut on his own cheek.

 

“I hope you’re turned into a Draculoid on Friday, maybe Destroya will welcome me at the same time, so I can mock you as you go through hell.”

 

Pete barely registered her words, and she continued, “You’ll always come back to me Pete, I hope you realize that,” She turned away. “I hope you know that you can never quit me.”

 

They skipped the usual ritual of a kiss and something-close-to-sex, and Pete could only see the color red all the way home.

 

The yellow paper, crumpled and ripped in places, was slammed onto his kitchen counter, and Pete threw an old, aging lamp across the room. It shattered on the wall opposite, leaving a dent in the white paint. His cheek bled.

 

The burns on his cheek seemed to be screaming in the cold air.

 

Pete went to bed without dinner.

 

His pillow had a maroon stain on it when he woke. Pete doesn’t know how to get rid of blood stains, so he flipped the pillow case.

 

It is Wednesday, Pete doesn’t work today, but he goes to Food Mart anyway.

 

He buys an old packet of bagels and tries his hardest not to look at Cassadee when she rings him up. She slides him another piece of paper and winks, “Just in case you lost the other one.”

 

Pete hates her so much, “I have to go in the back, I think I forgot something last night.”

 

“Sure, go ahead!” Her smile makes Pete queasy.

 

Something makes him dig in the pockets of his work apron, and he finds the capped needle and glass bottle. He internally apologizes to Jenna for forgetting it.

 

He takes it home, he doesn’t know why.

 

Thursday comes, and he stares at the yellow paper while eating bland cereal. He takes a nap and dreams of Ashlee and her gray, wiry skin and cloud eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Dirty knocks on his door and he opens it, annoyed at only sleeping for what seemed like two minutes.

 

“I need your help.”

 

Pete doesn’t say no, Dirty has given him so much.

 

“I wanna get out of the city man,” Dirty tells him, and Pete is saddened by this. “There’s this guy, okay? He works up in one the BL/ind compounds… He signs papers that get transport vehicles out of the city, into the Zones.”

 

“But why leave the city?” Pete has to know.

 

“It’s Miss Love man, my friends are gone because of her, and she thinks she’s helping, I can’t do it anymore.”

 

“Oh… so what do you want me for?” Pete can’t stop Dirty, he’s done so much for Pete, it would be selfish to make him stay. Yet, Pete would be alone when he left, no one could stop him from fucking up his own life. Travie disappeared a week ago, and Janae will never be any help.

 

“The guy I was talking about, just follow him from work to his apartment, find out where he lives,” Dirty ducked into an alley and Pete followed. “He can get the papers for an approval to get a truck out of the city. Just trade places with the secretary at the front desk when her shift ends and follow him home, easy.”

 

Pete nods, reluctant, “What are you gonna do while all this is going on?”

 

“Getting a truck from a friend of mine.” They stop behind an impeccably white building that hurts Pete’s eyes. “Thank you, man… You’re gonna be fine without me.” Dirty squeezes his shoulders. “As long as you don’t do anything stupid.”

 

Dirty showed him a picture of the man he talked about, a redhead, with nervous eyes and a slouched back. Then he was gone, and Pete was left with a feeling of impending doom.

 

Dirty was gone, just like that. It was so fast he barely had time to register it was actually happening. He went through the door Dirty had shown him. A woman with a kind face met him on the other side.

 

“His name is Andrew Hurley,” She said, “He’s so sweet and quiet… I wish he didn’t have to be caught up in all this.”

 

“You’re leaving too?” Pete asked.

 

“Yes,” She elaborated, “I will not let my son live without freedom.” She left, her high heels clicking against the asphalt outside.

 

Pete went through the next door, taking a seat behind a white marble desk in an equally white marble lobby.

 

He scribbles on a white notepad and wonders about the invitation to Getaway Mile. His promise to Dirty about not doing anything stupid gnawed at the back of his mind.

 

_Dirty is leaving, what does he care?_

 

The man rushes through the door just as Pete is about to give up. His arms were covered in black markings and his eyes are wild. He stares at Pete, frantic, before pushing through the glass doors, running down the street.

 

_Ritalin rat._

 

Everything about Andrew Hurley screamed Ritalin Rat. Frantic, shaky, and out of his mind.

 

He was luckier than most, if he had a steady job like this. Yet Pete felt more sorry for him, it must seem like everything was after him, every day.

 

Pete climbed over the desk and jumped through the doors just as Andrew turned into an alley.

 

As he caught up, laughter could be heard from inside the alleyway and Pete stopped to listen, in case it was a few of Andrew’s friends.

 

Shane Morris emerged from the alley a minute later and Pete’s eyes widened, yet Andy was gone, limping down the alley, panicked and frightened. Pete clenched his fists in Shane’s direction.

 

Andy, Pete was calling him now, made a slow pace home. Looking over his shoulder at every twist and turn on the way.

 

His apartment was the opposite direction of Pete’s, nowhere near the slums. His door slammed shut on Pete’s concerned face, revealing black letters and numbers: **13F**. It took some willpower to not knock and ask if he needed help.

 

Dirty didn’t show up at his apartment right away. Or at all, and all Pete could do was finger the yellow sheet of paper like an idiot.

 

 _I can’t take this anymore,_ he finally gave up at two in the morning. He crumpled up the paper, throwing it in the trash. _It starts at 2:30, might as well be early._

 

Two thirty came and went, the Getaway Mile was litup pink and red and blue lights. Then, at two forty five, it filled with people, not so much to be suspicious, but just enough that the air buzzed with an air Pete had never felt before.

 

He spotted Cassadee through the crowd, and pushed through to ask her, _What’s going on?_

 

He took a small step back when he saw the baseball bat slung over her shoulder.

 

She reeled back and slammed the bat into the back of an idle Exterminator’s head.

 

Pete gasped. The crowd yelled in unison, surging onto the stairs and the surrounding Exterminators, beating them to the ground. “Oh Shit!” Pete gasped. A few girls broke the glass of a storefront window, others broke anything that could be broken. Smashed glass and broken bodies littered the ground.

 

Pete was carried with crowd, and he stumbled into a tall, panicked boy with tears in his eyes, he yelled someone’s name then pushed through the mob.

 

Pete looked to the top of the stairs, where the crowd congested and squeezed upward.

 

Ashlee.

 

Ashlee stood at the top, her orange hair glowing in an oncoming sunrise, she held her hand out to the crowd, gripping the hand of the boy he had run into earlier. She turned her head surveying the crowd.

 

Her eyes somehow found his, and Pete turned away, not willing to see her.

 

Exterminators and Draculoids filled the area, more than Pete had ever seen before.

 

A woman's voice filled his ears, shouted over all the commotion.

 

_WE ARE PROFESSIONAL ASHES OF ROSES_

 

_THIS KEROSENE’S LIVE;_

 

_YOU SETTLED YOUR SCORE_

 

_THIS IS WHERE YOU COME TO BEG, UNBORN, AND UNSHAVEN_

 

_KILLING FIELDS OF FIRE TO A CONGRESS OF RAVENS,_

 

_THIS IS WHAT WE DO, BABY, WE NIGHTMARE YOU._

 

The words, angry and commanding, chilled Pete to the bone.

 

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” Dirty hissed in his ear, he jumped, frightened, and immediately apologized. Tears fell slowly and trailed down his cheeks.

 

“No, Pete, it’s fine, just…” Dirty looked over his shoulder, “Come on.” He pulled Pete through a hole in the wall, back into the slums. Exterminators ran past them.

 

“I knew you had been invited man, I just thought you would trash it.”

 

“It was Ashlee…” Pete wiped his face.

 

“Oh shit man,” Dirty scratched at his five o'clock shadow. “Someone tipped off BLi about all this,” He waved his hand back toward the riot. “Now they want someone to blame, that’s why Cassadee invited you.”

 

“What do mean?”

 

“She’s a droid, the kind that BLi uses to spy, that’s why she invited you. Someone they thought was dumb enough to shift the blame to, so BLi isn’t caught in the crosshairs…” Dirty is ashamed, something Pete has never seen him be. “I knew she was dangerous, but I only found out she was a droid like an hour ago… I should have told you as soon as I found out.”

 

Pete didn’t care about that.

 

Pete is an idiot, a crazy, psychopathic, and completely useless idiot.

 

“Don’t do that thing Pete, please, there’s no time, I’m sorry, I'm so sorry Pete.” Dirty shook his shoulders, “I know you need to go through the motions with that part of yourself, but you just can’t okay?”

 

Everything was happening too fast. _Too fast_.

 

“Just, go back to Andrew’s house, he can get the papers, you’re coming with us okay?” Dirty pushed him onto the sidewalk, Pete knew he was trying to keep him busy, if only to hold back a meltdown. “I’ll go get the truck and and everyone else, we need to get you out of the city.”

 

He tries to pay attention on his walk back to 13F, but everything blended together in mess of gray and red.

 

He stood in front of the door for a full minute, staring at the black arial lettering on the white paint.

 

Coughing. From inside the apartment.

 

Pete held an ear to the door and his eyebrows lifted to his forehead, eyes widening. He fumbled for the doorknob. “Hey! Hey! Andy! Open the door!” Pete slammed against the door, it quivered on its hinges.

 

“C’mon,” Pete huffed, and set himself on the opposite side of the hallway.

 

He hurled himself at the door, and it flew open, weak on its hinges.

 

Andy lay on the ground, facing the door, foam dribbled down his chin.

 

“Oh god,oh god…” Pete kneeled in front of him, shaking him. “Oh god please…”

 

Something poked him in the stomach.

 

The needle, nearly falling out of his pocket, and the glass bottle.

 

“Of course,” Pete thanked Jenna again and nervously pressed the needle into the cap of the bottle.

 

 _Fill to the number five,_ he remembers Jenna saying.

 

He presses it into Andy’s thigh. It takes a minute of Pete sitting in silence with bated breath. Then Andy’s back arches as he sucks in a breath and hacks up dark blood. Pete sighs in relief.

 

“Thank god I… I thought you died, you overdosed.” Andy stares up at him, breathing heavy.

 

“You are Andy Hurley right?”

 

He nods, eyes wide, and Pete takes a deep breath inward.

 

“I’m Pete, and I think I need you’re help.”

 

Andy stares at his fingers, and Pete pulls him up to stand.

  
**[ -... . .. -. --. / -.-. .-.. .- ... ... -.-- / .. ... / -- -.-- / - . . -. .- --. . / .-. . -... . .-.. .-.. .. --- -. .-.-.- ]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best work, but I guess it's better to get all the bad stuff out early. I like it though.
> 
> I have a much better chapter coming up and I hope you stick around!
> 
> I mean no disrespect towards Ashlee Simpson, I know that she's probably a very nice person.
> 
> http://isecretlydontcareatall.tumblr.com/post/144480507124/the-slums-of-battery-city-had-an-interesting-color  
> Follow this link for the aesthetic I made for this chapter.


	6. Faces

 

**[.. .----. ...- . / --. --- - / - .-- --- / ..-. .- -.-. . ... --..-- ]**

 

_Wake up._

 

No.

 

_Get out of bed._

 

He didn’t want to.

 

His legs tingled… M… move. No.

 

Weird. Fingers, hurt, folded under him all night.

 

He sat up in his bed. White sheets.

 

“This is my bed.” He said. It is.

 

“This is my room.” He continued. His room is white and has a mirror.

 

He gets out of bed. L...legs, no, tingling. He leans against a white desk.

 

Stretch fingers, hurts.

 

He stares in the mirror, _this is me,_ he thinks. Messy hair.

 

The door opens, a lady walks into _his room._ She wears white and has red lips.

 

He says, “Personal space…”

 

The lady smiles, “It is time for breakfast, Tyler.”

 

 _Tyler?_ Tyler, yes. He is Tyler. _Tyler is me._

 

“I am Tyler.” He tells the lady.

 

“Yes.” She agrees. “It is time for breakfast.”

 

Tyler nods. Breakfast, cereal, milk. His mom would make hot chocolate.

 

“My hair is messy,” He looks into the mirror at himself. The lady shakes her head.

 

“You may fix your hair after breakfast Tyler.”

 

“No.”

 

“Yes, or you will not eat breakfast.”

 

“Ok.”

 

He follows the lady, she walks fast. Her high heels _click! click! Click!_ Against the shiny floor.

 

He has to jog, lightly, his legs still tingle. _Step, tingle, step, tingle._

 

Long tables, and more people. He wrings his hands.

 

“Sit here, Tyler.” The lady pulls a chair out. A bowl and cup are in front.

 

 _Cereal, cereal, cereal,_ oatmeal.

 

“I don’t like oatmeal.”

 

“That’s okay Tyler,” The lady smiles again. “Just eat a little.” She hands him a spoon.

 

He sits. “Okay, but not all of it.”

 

“Yes,” She agrees. “Of course.”

 

A guy in a scary mask pours water into the glass, Tyler looks away. “I want hot chocolate.”

 

“We _all_ want something Tyler.” The lady scoots the glass toward him. “But we can’t all get what we want.”

 

“My mom always makes hot chocolate for breakfast,” He sticks the spoon into the oatmeal, it stands up straight.

 

“Your mother isn’t here right now, so she can’t make you hot chocolate.” The lady tips the spoon to lean on the side of the bowl. “It’s not polite to the cook if you don’t eat the food he has provided.”

 

“You can get water from the toilet if you want too.” He frowns at the glass.

 

The lady purses her lips, it makes her ugly, like a vulture. “Now Tyler,” She pulls a tiny envelope from an equally tiny bag. “I am not authorized to make you hot chocolate, and neither is anyone else, I cannot give you hot chocolate and I _apologize.”_

 

She holds the glass of water up to him and he takes it, holding it in front of him like it’s a dirty napkin.

 

The lady opens her tiny envelope. Two, tiny white pills fall into her open palm.

 

“Now, take a small drink, and swallow your medication,” She smiles, her teeth are blindingly white. “Then we can get your day started, and you can fix your hair!”

 

Tyler almost does what she says.

 

_Please stop_

 

“Tyler?” The lady pushes her open hand toward him.

 

_Don’t, please don’t, you can’t_

 

Tyler presses his lips together, shaking his head. “Tyler!” She is angry. “You need your medication!”

 

A hot, angry feeling bubbled in his head. _Please stop, please, no, no, nonononono._

 

 _“Tyler!”_ the lady yelled angrily.

 

_STOP!_

 

He shook his head side to side, yelling, “No! No! NO!” The man with the scary mask grabbed his arms, and another held his head in place.

 

He knocked the bowl of oatmeal over, splattering the watery substance all over the table and floor.

 

The lady forced his mouth open, pushing the pills down his throat.

 

* * *

 

 

_Get up._

 

N… no.

 

_You will._

 

Tired, he sits up in bed. His arms hurt.

 

“This is my bed?” He says. It is not.

 

“This is not my room,” He continues. This room does not have a mirror and desk. It has: a dark green plant in a white vase, and, a white chair next his not-bed.

 

A different lady sits in this chair. She writes on a clipboard.

 

She looks up and smiles at him. Her lips are dark purple. “Hello, Tyler.”

 

“I am Tyler,” He agrees, then says, “This is not my room.”

 

“No, it’s not your room Tyler,” She stands, and opens white curtains he hadn’t noticed before.

 

Light shines through clean glass.

 

“You were very impolite this morning Tyler,” She frowns at him, and Tyler is sorry.

 

“I’m sorry.” He says.

 

“Apology accepted Tyler.”

 

She pulled the chair in front of the window and motioned for him to sit.

 

He pulled the covers back and complied.

 

The view from the window overlooked a dark green forest and the grounds of even darker grass. White benches dotted this ground, where he could see tiny dots of people sitting on them.

 

The woman threw a small sheet over his shoulders, and pulled his messy hair behind him. A soft buzzing startled him and he jumped forward.

 

“Relax Tyler,” The woman pushed him lightly back into the chair, “You said yourself that your hair is messy, I am _solving_ the problem.”

 

Her words felt as if they held other meanings and Tyler’s hair fell in chunks to the floor.

 

“You can play piano yes?” She asked after his head had been shaved. He nodded, but was still unsure. “You have been here a while, Tyler.”

 

He does not know how long.

 

“Do you know of ballet, and it’s role at this facility Tyler?” She asked him, all he could do was stare at his reflection in the window.

 

“Ballet promotes discipline and a sense of community in close interaction with other dancers, a sense of community that Better Living Industries strives for!” She smiles bright and wide, then pulls him from the window. “But one cannot dance without music!”

 

She led him down a long hallway.

 

He struggled to breath in at a calm rate, he felt as if he was being led to his doom.

 

“I can’t play piano…” He says, shaking, “I want to go to my room.”

 

“Why just a week ago you played Sonata Number Twenty in full!” The woman smiles too much.

 

Tyler does not remember a week ago.

 

He does not remember playing piano, and yet he is pushed in front of one.

 

“You can’t just sit around the facility all the time anymore Tyler, letting the days pass you by…”

 

She presses down on a few keys, their uneven tones echo through the mirrored room.

 

_Out of tune._

 

He does not know how he knows this.

 

He presses a few keys by himself and the lady grins, “This morning you complained about not having hot chocolate…”

 

“Yes,” He put both hands on the keys, his fingers running over the smooth, white plastic.

 

“You must have been very tired, Tyler,” She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Last week it was being offered for another patient's birthday and you told me you hated hot chocolate.”

 

“What?” He turned to face her, still sitting on the piano bench.

 

She smiled, thinly, impatient. “Yes Tyler, you told me you don’t like the taste.”

 

“No, I-” He blinked, searching for an answer. “My mom makes it for me, I-”

 

“Yes, but she _stopped,_ because you told her you don’t like hot chocolate,” Her smile was still a frown in disguise. “ _Right Tyler? Would I_ lie _, to you?”_

 

“I-” He looked away, at the black and white piano keys. “No?”

 

“That’s right Tyler!” She smiled again, the bright white of her teeth burned his peripheral vision. “See? You must have been very tired this morning! Now we have _solved_ our problem!”

 

“Yes,” He agrees, but he does not actually agree.

 

He lies to the woman.

 

He presses the piano keys to cover up his confusion, an uneven, frantic sound echoes through his ears.

 

“Yes well,” The lady cringes, “You may sit here and get acquainted with the piano, and I will grab the correct music necessary for you to play.” She walks out of the room in small, rapid steps, and the heels of her shoes make a loud echo on the smooth wood floor.

 

He is alone.

 

He tries pressing the keys again. This time placing his fingers in what he thinks to be a small pattern.

 

The sound of it washes over him like a gentle rain, sliding down his skin like feathers from a pillow. It is not as out of tune as he might have thought.

 

He does not know how to play piano, or maybe he had forgotten.

 

The next chord comes easy, like riding a bike, which he does not remember doing either.

 

He is not sure how he feels.

 

The moment is ruined by the echo of her heels on wood. She holds a white folder, which she places in front of him on the piano’s music stand. “Classical and elegant, yet simple and uncomplicated!” She gushes. “Now remember to stick to the notes on the page Tyler! No improvising.”

 

“Why?” He asks, he does not ask this often. The woman knows this, and she stares at him.

 

“Why try to change something that is already perfect? If the Mona Lisa stands in front of you, you wouldn’t simply draw over it!”

 

He isn’t sure if that answered his question or not.

 

“Stay on the notes, Tyler.” Her kind tone is forced, and Tyler pulls his shoulders inward. “Ah!” The woman suddenly proclaims, “here are our dancers now! Aren’t they just darling?”

 

Six girls walked in a single file line into the room. Their faces, downcast and gaunt, and their hair pulled back into severe buns. They looked starved, and Tyler could not wipe their terrified eyes from his mind. Whatever the word ‘darling’ meant to this woman, it did not apply to these girls.

 

“I see we are all dressed in the correct attire this time, aren’t we Elisa?” Her head swivels to look at a tiny girl with curly black hair.

 

She gives a tiny squeak, “Y-yes Miss… I’m sorry Miss.”

 

“Apology accepted, Elisa.” The lady smiled at her, eyes wide and unaccepting. “Ladies, I would like to introduce you to Tyler Joseph, he will be playing the piano for us.”

 

He didn’t know he had a last name.

 

Tyler Joseph waved a small a hello to the girls. They nodded back, sometimes saying, “hi.” under their breaths.

 

“As you know, you will address me as ‘Miss’, but you may address Tyler as simply, Tyler.” She clapped her hands together and a few girls flinched. “Get in your starting positions, and Mr. Joseph, if you will please turn to the third page of the folder I have provided.”

 

It took him a minute to figure out she was talking to him.

 

The paper shuffled and almost fluttered to the ground as he hurried to take the sheets out. He didn’t know what any of the notes meant, but his fingers did, and they placed in themselves on the correct keys.

 

He still had no idea what he was doing, even as the girls did twist and turns, with Miss clapping out the beats. They looked exhausted and afraid even before they started the first half of a real dance.

 

They met after, three girls who came up to the piano, timid and looking at him through frizzy hair. The one called Elisa said: “Thank you for slowing down the tempo,”

 

He didn’t know he had been.

 

The other two girls introduced themselves as Meagan and Marie.

 

Marie kissed him on the cheek.

 

They told him to tread lightly around Miss, for all her pleasantness, she had a nasty temper that boiled just beneath the surface.

 

They told him how long they had been dancing before he came along. “Too long,” Elisa whispered, “They use us as entertainment for the off-duty Exterminators.”

 

“There are other girls.” Meagan said, sitting next to him on the piano bench. “All of them exhausted, and hungry.” She took of her dancing shoes, her toes bent, and her toenails cracked and red. “Dancing is supposed to be hard, that’s why I accepted the offer to learn… But now I just want sleep.”

 

Marie nodded. “It’s dancing through the pain you know? Like before the Helium Wars… But now it’s dance no matter what, not for discipline or community, just for something pretty to look at.”

 

Elisa asked him: “Do you remember anything from before?”

 

“Before what?” He asked in response.

 

“Before-” She paused as if she already knew the answer. “Before this place, before Retinal Resort.”

 

He thought about it, he didn’t even know the _name_ of the place before now, and he didn’t remember last week… He… didn’t remember…

 

“Tyler,” Meagan touched his arm, “It’s okay… it’s seems like every day, I forget more and more. All I can remember is my father, and his face gets blurrier every time I wake up.” She stopped.

 

“I thought I could remember my mother…” He offered. “Now I… I don’t know.”

 

Miss came back before Elisa could ask anything else, and the men scary masks took them all back to their rooms.

 

* * *

 

 

He dreams that night.

 

A face he didn’t recognize laughed sweetly, her blond hair tickling his face.

 

A hand rested on his shoulder, saying encouraging things, a sound he recognized.

 

Squeaking shoes on a hardwood floor. Laughing, his mom, white, pills, blood.

 

_Nightmare._

 

Hands gripped his arms, dragging, pulling, hot on his skin.

 

_Please! Please, stop!_

 

White, choking him, holding him down, stop, please stoppleasestopstop _stop._

 

**_Wake Up!_ **

 

He shot up in his bed, under white sheets, wrapped around his neck. He removed them.

 

“This is my bed,” He says, to calm himself. It does not work.

 

“This is my room.” He tries again.

 

He gets out of bed, his legs shake. He had a dream last night. It is hard to remember, except the white.

 

“It’s breakfast time Tyler,” the lady is at the door, not Miss, but the one with red lips and sour expression.

 

“I am Tyler,” He says to himself.

 

“Yes,” The lady says, impatiently. “It’s breakfast time.”

 

He follows her, staring at the white floor.

 

“Sit,” She orders when they get to the room with long tables.

 

He complies.

 

“Eat,” She sits next to him. Oatmeal again.

 

With shaky hands he picks up the spoon.

 

 _Flavorless._ He spits it back into the bowl as soon as it touches his lips. The lady purses her lips.

 

“Then you will have it for lunch.” She pushes the bowl away. Then, she grabs his chin, her long nails dug into his skin.

 

It’s as if he is watching from the other side of the room.

 

She forces the white pills down with a sip of water, he chokes. She merely watches.

 

The woman called Miss meets him later, he plays piano. Six new girls dance to the music, their eyes empty and tired, just like his own.

 

He is merely an observer in his own body, just as he was at breakfast. He watches as his fingers press keys, and his feet walk to lunch.

 

He stares into the eyes of a scary mask as the mean lady force feeds him the oatmeal from breakfast.

 

He does not talk to Elisa or Meagan or Marie after he plays for them, he only walks back to his room afterwards.

 

He does not remember the dream.

 

He meets New Girl when he wakes up. The mean lady tells him to be polite, as she is a new employee. He nods. They take him to breakfast.

 

He does not need to be forced to drink or swallow pills. He eats three bites of oatmeal. The mean lady tells him she is proud of him, he will get a nice salad at lunch.

 

He does not feel proud.

 

Mean Lady tells the New Girl to walk him to the piano room, and his fingers itch. He wonders if he feels happy.

 

New Girl has blond hair and pretty eyes, she is nervous too. She stops when they get to his piano, the room is empty, but he knew Miss would come soon.

 

“So you’re… Tyler?” She asks, her voice is shaky.

 

“I am Tyler.” He agrees, he adjusts the sheet music.

 

“Yeah, yeah you’re… you’re Tyler,” She looks sad. “I’m Jenna.” She says.

 

_Jenna._

 

She takes a step closer, “Tyler… My name is Jenna, I… Do you--”

 

She is interrupted by Miss, as she sweeps into the room with the girls behind her. Elisa, Meagan, Marie, and three others. They are gaunt and heir eyes are dull. Jenna stares.

 

Tyler plays a piece as the girls dance and stretch, _Jenna_ is at the corner of his eye, she stares at him.

 

 _Wrong note._ A girl stumbles. Meagan.

 

Miss slaps her, hair flies from her bun. Jenna gasps.

 

Then she slaps Tyler, he is blank-faced, even as his head whips to the side, his cheek stings.

 

Jenna takes him to his room when it ends, she wrings her hands and looks over her shoulders the whole way.

 

She asks him, “Do… Do you remember me?”

 

“Your name is Jenna.” He responds, confused.

 

“Yes,” She glances behind herself, at the door to his room, “But do you remember, from before?”

 

Why does everyone want him to remember something from before? What has he done to make them ask?

 

He turns away from her, assuming himself to be angry.

 

“Tyler…” She hesitates. “My name is Jenna Black, I’m from Ohio, and so are you Tyler,” He turns his head a little.

 

_Ohio._

 

“We met four years ago, do you remember?” She took a step towards him. “We started dating a year ago… and you had problems, with drugs and stuff, so was I…” She made a small, nervous laugh.

 

His head hurts because she is lying to him.

 

“You said you wanted to move to the Zones, and we would be together, you paid for my rehab after I almost overdosed so we couldn’t do that anymore.” She touched his shoulder. “Please Tyler, please listen…”

 

He brushed her off and said: “Please get out of my room.”

 

“I- Please Tyler, I’m trying to get you out of here!”

 

“This is my bed.” He said, touching the white sheets. “This is my room.” His desk and mirror are familiar to him.

 

“You said you wanted to get clean, for me… So you went here, to The Retinal Resort, because it was the best place in the country…” She backed away, glancing around the room, up the walls and ceiling. “You said, before you went in, you said... _‘Even if it doesn’t work, we can always be screwed up together.’_ That's what you said, and then, then I stopped getting letters, and they denied my requests to see you.”

 

_We can always be screwed up together._

 

Blond hair and blue eyes and a laugh that sounded like a bell.

 

He remembers rain. Bright smiles, and white.

 

“I have a brother.” It’s a question, because he is still unsure.

 

“Yes! Yes! His name is Zac and you play basketball together.”

 

“Letters?” He asks another question, turning to face Jenna.

 

She nods, “You sent one every week, little poems and cute drawings, and then, they got weird after awhile… You stopped drawing and you said you couldn’t remember names, you asked me to come and get you out. The last one you sent was small, only three sentences: ‘I am scared. What is my mother’s name? I can’t see you anymore.’”

 

He remembers thunder booming that night.

 

“That’s when they stopped…” She backed towards the door. “I’m gonna get you out of here Tyler, I promise!” She ran from the room, and he felt her absence like it was oxygen.

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up too early and cannot fall back to sleep.

 

He dreamed of his brother.

 

It was a good dream, laughing and ice cream.

 

He licks his lips, as if he could still taste the mint.

 

He stands.

 

He doesn’t remember Jenna very well, but his brother came to mind like a bright light. It took him through a time he felt ashamed to have forgotten.

 

A trip to the beach. Kickball. A fight over the top bunk. Summer Camp.

 

He remembered the rain, Jenna’s rain, he might have kissed her.

 

“Why, aren’t you up early?” The mean lady smiles. He does not smile back.

 

“Uh huh.” Tyler agrees.

 

“It’s breakfast time, Tyler.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

He walks with her to the room with long tables. He passes rooms of other people, this is his first time seeing them through clear, awake eyes.

 

One door is swarmed with men in masks. Not scary, just with a black dot.

 

They speak into boxes, apathetic and unaware of Tyler and his escort.

 

Marie.

 

Her room.

 

He saw red paint or maybe blood.

 

_I am not a dog._

 

She lay on her bed, stained red.

 

Tyler is afraid.

 

He was pushed away by the lady and her long fingernails.

 

_Marie is dead._

 

He sat at a long table, different breakfast today, bland cereal.

 

Faces are blurry.

 

He feels trapped inside his own body, and his head hurts.

 

The lady frowns.

 

He is suddenly somewhere far away, Jenna’s blue eyes watch him as he floats.

 

Suicide killed Marie.

 

“Tyler!” The lady is angry, he knocks the pills out of her hand.

 

“Fuck you!” He doesn’t know who says this.

 

Maybe it’s him.

 

* * *

 

 

“Tyler,” Jenna is here, in his room. “I’m getting you out of here, you will be free.”

 

He remembers her like a dream.

 

Her white dress and pink lips, her blue eyes that made the sun set in their wake. She was like a cloud filled with sunlight, snow in summertime, and ice cream in winter. He remembers, she laughed at his terrible jokes, danced to his piano, even if he stumbled over chords because he stared at her. He remembers her gentle hands and her heavy heart. He remembers her as she was just yesterday, a year ago.

 

She wakes him up.

 

He remembers she likes cookie dough ice cream and hates sourdough bread.

 

She is too good to be true, and Tyler thinks everyone deserves someone like that.

 

She takes his hand, she tells him to run with her, he barely feels the sensation of his feet hitting the ground. Her hair flutters by her face as she looks back at him.

 

She stops running, and he barely has time to stop.

 

She tells him to walk slowly. He nods.

 

There is a moment when they step into dark green grass, where he thinks they are free.

 

Until the moment passes and he realizes _they are gone._

 

The lady he calls ‘Miss’ is there and Jenna falls to the ground.

 

 _It worked_ someone says.

 

Jenna stabs the mean lady in the eye, she says: “You will be free Tyler.”

 

Her face is blurry and Tyler touches her cheek, “Come with.” He says.

 

“It was a trap, Tyler,” She shakes her head. “Go to the desert.”

 

He can’t see her anymore.

 

Miss is behind her. She looks Tyler and says: “Yes go to the desert, kill the rebels like you have been told.”

 

The mean lady is dead but she tells him he will triumph for Better Living Industries.

 

Jenna is carried over the grass, her hair loose and eyes to the sky, she says: “You have always had two faces Tyler, you don’t have to become the one they gave you.”

 

Tyler has two faces.

 

The other is blurry and hard to see.

 

He runs.

  
**[ -... .-.. ..- .-. .-. -.-- .----. ... / - .... . / --- -. . / .. .----. -- / -. --- - .-.-.- ]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM VERY PROUD OF THIS CHAPTER
> 
> Also I'm sorry to Joe's wife
> 
> http://isecretlydontcareatall.tumblr.com/post/144680045169/he-saw-red-paint-or-maybe-blood-i-am-not-a-dog  
> Check the link for the aesthetic of this chapter *thumbs up*


	7. Report

 

**[ .. / .-- .- -. - / - --- / -... . / -.- -. --- .-- -. / ..-. --- .-. / -- -.-- / .... .. - ... --..-- ]**

 

Pete guides him to his own dinner table. Andy can only stare at him.

 

“Why do you want my help?” He says, a bit irritable, but he isn’t mad at anyone.

 

He feels a headache coming on, it pulses _please stop now._

 

Pete has shaky hands and dark brown eyes. “I need to get out of the city with a few friends of mine.”

 

Andy does not know how to help him with that, so he says, “Just go through the Getaway Mile.”

 

“Not that simple anymore man, there was a riot just last night.” The boys face is set in a permanently concerned expression. Andy can vaguely remember last night, waking up on the fire escape, flashing lights and the _yelling._

 

“Oh, I don’t know if I can help you.” He still can’t feel his fingers, the pill still courses through him and calms him. He should stock a few in his pockets, they would taste like whiskey when he swallowed. “Why leave?” He asks out of pity, he would have to file a report about Pete.

 

“Yes you can,” Pete insists, answering his first sentence. “You sign the papers that would help us leave.” He doesn’t bother answering Andy’s other question.

 

Andy excuses himself from the table.

 

He is in the bathroom now, he washes his face.

 

When his eyes clear of water, he sees his hands, covered in black pen, smeared and bleeding into the cracks in his skin.

 

 _Rat. Rat, rat RATratrat_ **_ratRAT. RAT._ **

 

His numb fingers shake and he scrubs the ink away, rubbing his hand raw, an angry pink blotch forms on his palms.

 

 _“Why leave!?”_ He remembers Jon saying this, angrily spitting onto the sidewalk. His old neighborhood in Wisconsin towers over him, the houses had seemed so big, even as a teenager. Andy blinks rapidly, his headache ripped through his forehead with long talons and teeth.

 

He braces himself on the vanity and squeezes his eyes shut, breathing heavily.

 

_“Why leave!?” Jon asks again, and he Andy stares at him through blank eyes. “Because of you, Andy.” Jon pushes him back a few inches. “Because of everyone like you! Better Living is fucking everywhere and all people do anymore is take pills. You can’t do anything anymore without that dumbass company supervising, and you don’t even see it!”_

 

There is a knock at the bathroom door, and Pete says: “Uh… Are you okay Andy?”

 

 _“My parents took away my bass… they said it was unhealthy for my growing mind, which is probably the biggest load of bullshit I have ever heard. They pop those pills every morning and I don’t recognize them anymore, I don’t recognize_ you _anymore Andy! You haven’t gone one lunchtime without swallowing one of those things haven’t you?”_

 

The sink overflows and drips onto Andy’s socks, he’s hyperventilating, Pete knocks again. “Andy? You’ve been in there awhile…”

 

No he hasn’t, it’s been a couple seconds at most, no no no.

 

He feels his fingers shaking and swallows one. It goes down tasting like _blood._

 

Pete opens the door and turns the water off. “I’m sorry, you’ve been in here for ten minutes, I--” He sees his hands and falls silent. Andy leads him back to the kitchen.

 

He feels better. He knows what Pete wants.

 

He wants him to sign papers, just like work, on the dotted line, _Andrew Hurley_.

 

He wouldn’t do that for Pete, the desert is dangerous, Battery City is safe. Better Living Industries is safe. Jon wouldn’t leave, he would see, Battery City is safe and Andy would not help him leave a place that is safe, safe safesafe _safe._

 

“Please Andy there isn’t much time,” Pete said.

 

“Okay,” Andy responded. “Wait here.” He goes to the bathroom and stuffs a bottle of pills into his pocket.

 

He tells Pete to follow him down the street, he would bring Pete to his work and report him and then he can go home and sleep.

 

Everything blends together as he walks, the streets turn into Wisconsin, into Battery City, into Wisconsin again.

 

He can feel his fingers again.

 

Which doesn’t always happen.

 

Pete looks over his shoulder at every turn.

 

His workplace is white and bright and Andy stares at his shoes as they get closer, he would report Pete and go home.

 

No one looks at him from the front desk and Andy is confused, someone should be sitting there, he would file a complaint.

 

Pete says: “I’ll wait in the bathroom, and you can bring the papers to me and then I’ll be out of your hair, okay?”

 

Andy nods, _down the hallway then turn right._

 

He does this and Pete disappears.

 

The door squeaks when it opens to his work area, and his head throbs. _Headache._

 

He sits at his desk, _Mike_ is there, across from him. He stares and says something about it being his day off. He ignores Mike because he does not like Mike.

 

He needs to file a report, he had forgotten, where would he go to report Pete?

 

He stands, dizzy _dizzy_.

 

He grabs a sheet of paper from his _IN_ box and stuffed it in his pocket, his black pen hung from his white shirt collar.

 

He is in the bathroom now, not Pete’s though, he throws up onto the floor in front of the toilet, he didn’t get there in time.

 

 _Mike_ grabs him by the shoulders and leads him to a door on the other side of the room, it is labeled with symbols in a language Andy can’t remember the name to. A man with short brown hair and dark eyes adjusted his tie, and smiled at him.

 

The name card on his desk was done in the same symbols, maybe Japanese. The only recognizable letter was a white ‘B’.

 

“Andrew,” His voice was full and to the point, it made Andy shiver. “As I recall this isn’t the first time you have disturbed your coworkers with your, coming in unannounced, off schedule.”

 

“What.” Andy’s voice was high pitched and shaking.

 

“Yes, you have had many warnings about this Andrew, it disturbs your coworkers when things are put out of balance.” He straightened a pencil on his desk. “Your dear apprentice was distraught when he saw you leave work early just a day ago, and now you come into work on a day off? Why, Andrew… I cherish _hard_ workers, but we must stay on _schedule._ ” His smile reminded Andy of Shane’s.

 

Wide yet thin, concealing blood and rage.

 

He had never met his boss before today, he seemed scarier than Andy had imagined. Mike nodded in agreement with the man.

 

“What will I do with you Andrew? Unless you have something to make up for your… _wrongdoing.”_ The man stood, just a couple inches taller than Andy.

 

He did have something, he had Pete, or… Jon? “The bathroom, in the bathroom, there’s--”

 

“Yes, we know what happened, it will be cleaned.”

 

“ _No,_ in the lobby, Jon, Pete, or-- Jon _Walker.”_

 

“Jon Walker, the rebel? Are you saying that the Killjoy, The Green Man, is in _our lavatory?”_ He smiled again, tight and angry.

 

“No I--” The man's face was blurry and out of focus, Andy could barely breath, he needed another, then he would be okay. “It’s Pete--”

 

“Get him out of here, Mr. Pareskuwicz.” Mike grabbed his shoulder and he stumbled backwards.

 

“No--” Andy gasped, blinking away the cotton in his eyes, “You have to stop him, he’s going to leave the city--”

 

“You’re fired, Mr. Hurley.” The man sat down behind his desk, straightening his tie. Andy struggled against Mike’s strong hold and the door opened behind him. Men in white and black masks took over for Mike, and he seized in their arms.

 

“It’s Pete!” His voice was only above a hoarse whisper as he was led out of the building. “You have to stop him!” His hands shook, and his palms stung as he was pushed through the doors, onto the concrete, onto his hands and knees.

 

He could barely hold the bottle as he unscrewed the top, it went down his throat, like wine, like blood.

 

A few white pills clattered onto the street and people stared as he furiously tried to gather them back into the bottle. Pete appeared beside him, handing him a few of the round tablets.

 

He took them and left through an alley beside his work, Pete followed. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I- I’m sorry Andy…I heard them throw you out…” Andy could barely hear him through the buzzing in his ears, _what was happening?_ _Why is this happeningwhatishedoingwhyishelikethis?_

 

 _Headache again._ He stuffs the bottle into his pocket. The folded paper fluttered out. Pete snatched it from the air as Andy rubbed his temples, who, panicked, grabbed at the paper. “No, that’s not…!”

 

Pete turned away, staring at the paper angrily, “...On suspicion of smuggling to or from the Zones!?” He crumpled the paper, breathing heavily as if he had run a mile. He whipped back around to face Andy. “I- I can’t believe this, you son of a bitch!” He pushed him against the white, brick wall. “I thought I could trust you, the way Dirty was talking, and you’re just some BLi zombie!? You were going to report us!?”

 

“Why leave…?” He whispers.

 

He can’t feel his fingers.

 

Which he thinks he deserves.

 

But everything is blurry and he’s not sure if he’s in Battery City or Wisconsin anymore. Pete yells accusing words in his face before letting go, and they sting his ears like needles, not even registering until he hears: _“Ritalin rat.”_

 

Then he is on top of Pete, his fingers curl into fists and he is _punching him,_ Pete’s face turns red, and it’s not Pete anymore, it’s Shane or his annoying lackey Travis or _Mike_ or the laughing man, and finally his boss who goes by the letter ‘B’. Suddenly Andy is the one yelling incoherent things and Pete shields himself as the words make his cheeks bleed.

 

Pete twists under him and slides away, crouching a little before launching himself at Andy’s torso, tackling him to the ground. They wrestle like little kids, rolling into trash cans and pulling at each other's ears until they are out of breath and Andy, for once, doesn’t want another to slide down his throat like wine and whiskey and blood.

 

Pete sits next to him and says: “You’re stronger than you look.”

 

A hot feeling fills Andy’s chest and he doesn’t know why, since it isn’t actually anger. He stands, his knee shakes from a bruise that's turning his skin purple, and he picks up his black pen. Pete picks up the crumpled up ball of paper and tries to smooth it on his thigh.

 

“I’m sorry,” Pete mumbles, “that I called you a rat.”

 

“I am a rat,” Andy murmurs.

 

“No, no, you’re just…” Pete searches for the phrase, “You have a problem, and hey, at least you’re acknowledging it.”

 

Andy stares at his fingers, red and the edges of his nails bled. “I was going to report you.”

 

Pete turns away, “I know.”

 

“I don’t know why,” Andy curled his hands into fists, watching his fingers curl around his black pen. “I’m sorry anyway.”

 

Pete’s dark eyes turn to look at him.

 

“You can still use that paper,” He pointed at the wrinkled white in Pete’s fist. He blinked away the fog in his eyes. “Go through the west gate instead of the Getaway Mile. That’s where my signature usually goes, so they’re bound to be a bit complacent about it.”

 

“So they’ll just look at your name and not the rest of the paper!” Pete gives him a small smile.

 

Andy doesn’t remember being so present in a moment before, maybe it's the adrenaline from the fight, or maybe something else. Andy doesn’t want the feeling to go, but it leaves only moments after.

 

_“Why leave!?” Jon yells. “You’re addicted, Andy! You need help!”_

 

He isn’t sure what happened in Wisconsin anymore.

 

There is a commotion from outside the alley, and he watches as Draculoids rush from the white building. Pete gasps.

 

“They’re heading to the slums.”

 

The slums. _The Lobby._

 

Andy has never been to the Lobby.

 

* * *

 

 

The Lobby was colored dirt browns and purple shadows, and illuminated with neon colored signs that twisted around Andy like man-made fireflies. Pete seemed to relax under the strange colors and Andy was thrown, like a fish from white water, out of his own comfort level.

 

They walked slowly down narrow streets and down alleys. A pair of pornodroids stared at them from across the street. Pete waved and they turned away.

 

“No sign of the Exterminators.” Pete murmured, Andy tapped his fingers against his thigh. “There’s no one around,” Pete observed. “”There’s usually more droids out at least.”

 

To illustrate his point, he tapped on the shoulder of a purple haired pornodroid leaning against a streetlamp. She whipped around, gasping, she thrust a closed fist towards his stomach.

 

Pete dodged quickly, “Bebe! It’s me, Pete!” She let out a relieved sigh, before a sad look clouded her eyes. She hugged Pete. “Bebe, what’s going on? Where is everyone? All I saw was the Exterminators heading down here and--” Bebe wiped her eyes on her arm.

 

“They came down here and trashed everything! Amba’s dead, and I can’t find Matthew, they just left! They all went underground to the bullet train and now they’re gone! I--” She gasped again. “Pete! They went to the tunnels! By the Getaway Mile! That’s where all the shooting happened, the truck was there!”

 

Pete’s eyes widened, “Dirty…” He looked back at Andy. “Did you tell them anything?”

 

Andy knew what he was talking about, “No, I couldn’t even talk, all I said was something about… Wisconsin…” He trailed off, his breath shaky. Pete was already storming away, Bebe hot on his heels.

 

Andy trailed after, trying to keep pace, the streets blurred together and the lights shook his vision until Bebe steadied him against her thin shoulders. They slowed in front of a large gate Andy knew to be the entrance to the Getaway Mile, a little farther down, the escalators towered above, still and silent.

 

Garbage, ads, rags, and other dirty things littered the cobbled street, along with a few disassembled droids leaning against the walls.

 

Pete took a few hesitant steps towards a tunnel near the end of the street, looming behind the escalators, pitch dark and covered with graffiti.

 

Andy steadied himself without Bebe, and he could feel the cold air blowing through the dark tunnel, all the way to the end of the street where they stood.

 

Something crunched under Pete’s foot, and he lifted his toes to pick it up. A pair of dark-rimmed glasses, cracked and bent under the weight of his foot. He picked them up with his thumb and forefinger. “These are Travie’s glasses…” He looked back at them. “I haven’t seen him for a while…”

 

The dark tunnel grew closer and Andy‘s hands shook. The back of two large white trucks greeted them at it’s entrance. The back of one was open, and two Draculoids were draped up it’s ramp, white jumpsuits smoking from ray-gun blasts.

 

“Matthew!” Bebe yelled in relief, and she jogged to the passenger side of the truck to a male pornodroid sitting against the tunnel wall, Pete joined her.

 

Andy stayed by the back of the truck, staring into the back.

 

He stepped up the ramp. Over the Draculoids. A dark-skinned man laid on the bed of the truck, clutching a ray gun, pointed at the two Draculoids. An Exterminator came after, slumped onto the metal benches that lined the inside of the truck.

 

Then, a woman, wearing black, he couldn’t see her face.

 

She held a child in her lap, her son, his face buried in his mother’s chest. Both of them were gone. He stumbled backwards, breathing heavily, he tripped over the dark man at the entrance and burst back onto the street. “Andy,” Pete called, and he backed away from the truck towards him. “What’d you see?”

 

He shook his head.

 

Pete turned back to Matthew, helping him to stand against the wall. “Where’s Dirty? How did they know we would be here?”

 

“Cassadee.” Matthew answered. “She knew more than we thought.”

 

Pete nodded, “Ok, okay, but where’s Dirty, Matthew? _Where is Dirty?”_

 

Matthews eyes flitted to the passenger side door. “Pete…” But Pete was already stumbling toward the door. “Pete, wait!” Pete swung the door open, it’s cracked window fell to the ground and shattered.

 

Matthew struggled in his steps toward Pete, who only stared inside the truck.

 

“Pete…”

 

“No,” Pete shook his head side to side. “No, no no no…”

 

Inside, a man with curly hair was slumped over the dashboard, his face bloody and his brown eyes empty. Pete stretched a quivering hand onto his back. “No… He can’t…”

 

“Pete, just wait a minute--”

 

“No!” Pete grabbed at the man in the truck with both hands, and Matthew jumped onto him, lacing his arms under Pete’s. “No! No, stop, please! We have to get him out! Please!”

 

“Pete!” Matthew pointed into the truck. “We can’t! Those are motion sensing! If we try to move him we all go up in flames!”

 

Andy could finally see a small white light from inside the truck, he blanched.

 

A bomb.

 

“They put them there in case any other rebels showed up trying to leave.” Matthew explained, Pete stared into the truck and Matthew finally released him. Bebe ran forward and touched Matthews face, whispering concerned words to him.

 

Andy felt like everything was at a tilt, he could barely stand and his vision blurred.

 

He couldn’t feel his fingers.

 

Which he kind of expected.

 

Pete took the paper out of his pocket and squeezed it in his fist, he thrust it toward Andy without looking at him. “Sign.” He said.

 

“What?” Andy asked quietly.

 

“Sign!” Pete turned and shoved the paper into his chest. “Just--sign it… please…”

 

Andy clicked his black pen and signed it on his knee. Pete snatched it away and stalked toward the other truck. “I’m taking the west tunnel like you said, Dirty would want me to get out of the city.”

 

“By yourself?” Bebe asked, rushing over to Pete and grabbing his arm. Pete shook her off.

 

Andy followed behind, slowly, looking at the bodies on the ground as he passed, stepping over arms and legs with such caution, he feared they would come to life and grab him.

 

Dragging him to his own death.

 

Pete stepped into the driver's seat of the second truck and fumbled with the key. Both his eyes were swollen from their fight from earlier, his cheek was scratched and his lip was split in two places. Andy was hazily reminded that _he had done that._

 

 _His own two hands_.

 

His knuckles were scraped because of it.

 

Pete could barely see because of it.

 

Andy placed a hand over Pete’s on the steering wheel. “I’ll drive.” Pete stared.

 

“You’re not going to the Zones, Andy, you can’t.” Pete shook his head. “I have to do this alone.”

 

“I’ve known you for half a day and I don’t even know how you made it through your own life,” Andy tried for a smile. “They killed _kids,_ Pete,” He was serious again. “I’ve _worked_ for them, Pete. I know I’m a Ritalin Rat and I think I’ve known longer than I want to admit, you can barely see, _Pete,_ I’m coming with you, I _can’t do this anymore.”_

 

Pete nodded, his eyes red.

 

“Goodbye Bebe, bye Matthew, it was nice to meet you.” Andy smiled at them, it wasn’t very genuine and they could probably tell he feared for his own life more than he was thinking about them.

 

“Destroya will meet you in the desert.” Bebe hugged him.

 

* * *

 

 

There was a point in the drive to the west gate that Andy finally realized he was leaving. It hit him like a truck, actually, and he made a hard break in the middle of an intersection, making Pete scream at him. Traffic was scarce thanks to the bullet train, but Andy’s heart beat faster than he thought possible.

 

The west gate was usually used by teams of researchers from the college or wealthy salesmen looking for money in the desert. It was kept clean and white and Andy had to fight the urge to look away.

 

The guard manning the entrance stood to meet them and Andy squeezed a hand over the pills in his pocket. The guard tapped on the window and it took a second for Andy to realize he had to roll it down.

 

He glanced into the truck, past Andy, and asked: “What’s up with your pal?”

 

“H-he’s tired,” Andy stuttered.

 

“Aren’t we all?” The guard smirked. “Papers?” He held a hand out.

 

Without blinking, Andy handed over the Report for Suspected Smuggling. Pete looked away and wrung his hands. The guard's eyes went straight to the bottom of the page, “Andrew Hurley,” The guard read, and Andy felt like his soul was leaving his body. “Seems like he sends us more work everyday,” He chuckled. “If I ever meet that desk jockey…” The guard smiled and crumpled the paper like it was Andy’s neck. “Am I right?”

 

Andy gave a staggered chuckle. “Yeah…”

 

“Head down the tunnel and take the right path when you reach the fork,” The man pointed down the gray brick tunnel. “Then you’ll be all set.” He patted a hand on the door and Andy thanked him, rolling up the window as fast as he could.

 

The tunnel was dark and tight, making them both claustrophobic.

 

They both sat in silence, listening behind them for alarm bells, or signs of pursuit.

 

Then he finally saw the light, colored orange and white.

 

The warm sun hit Andy’s face, warming his skin and making him squint. He slouched back in his chair, and he kept driving on the dusty road as it finally converged with Route Guano, _The Getaway Mile._

 

They drove in silence, until it seemed like the only sound around for miles was the hum of the engine, and Pete, softly weeping into his hands.

  
**[ -. --- - / .--- ..- ... - / -- -.-- / -- .. ... ... . ... .-.-.- ]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like George R. R. Martin.
> 
> It's Micheal Buble, by the way, Andy's boss is Micheal Buble.  
> Not that I have anything against Micheal Buble.


	8. Us

 

_“When he died, all things soft and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.”_

_―_ _Madeline Miller_ _,_ _The Song of Achilles_

 

A hot desert wind whipped through their old Land Rover, taking Young Veins hair with it. The hotter sun reflected off the dashboard onto his skin, making sweat form in small pinpricks. He sat behind Green Man, who, at the wheel, squinted at the road in front of him, while The Mona Lisa fumbled with the dials on the radio, which continued to spit static and broken voices at them all.

 

“Will you stop that?” Green Man swatted at the Mona Lisa. “It’s broken okay? Will you just accept that?”

 

“Uh, no, no I won’t!” Mona Lisa huffed back. “We don’t know for sure if it’s broken, because you refuse to stop at a garage!”

 

“It’s been spitting static for the last week, Mona, let the radio go.” Young Vein retorted, and Green Man raised his eyebrows and waved his hand toward him.

 

“See!?” His voice went an octave higher.

 

Mona Lisa huffed back into his seat, crossing his arms in defeat.

 

A groan from the seat beside him. Young Vein shifted to lift a rough blanket from his friend. “Disco’s awake.” He said. Mona and Green Man cheered softly, probably trying to make Danger Disco smile. “Hey dude,” Vein poured some water from his own bottle into Disco’s mouth. “Glad you’re awake.”

 

Disco cracked a chapped lip smile, “Me too,” his voice was a hoarse whisper. “How much longer to Zone 5?”

 

“Uh…” The Green Man fumbled for the map and handed it to Mona Lisa, who opened it carefully, twisting it around until it was right side up.

 

“A couple of hours maybe? I don’t know how to read maps.” Mona said. Disco snorted.

 

“Might as well sleep some more.” Young Vein offered. “It’ll be okay, we’ll wake you up when you get there and Daylight Drug will fix you right up.”

 

Disco smiled and nodded, then scratched at his face, which was an ugly puce color, even peeling in places. His eyes were dull and his hair was falling out, and Vein had to look away after Disco closed his eyes.

 

Unfortunately Mona Lisa’s guesstimate of a couple hours was wrong, and they had to stop for the night. The Green Man built a fire from some old, empty boxes of power pup and doused it in some leftover gasoline, he burned the container for that too.

 

They lounged against the Land Rover, in front of the fire, and had dragged Danger Disco from the car on his blanket so he could see the stars.

 

Mona Lisa and The Green Man fell asleep on each others shoulders and Young Vein stayed awake, shifting to sit next to Danger Disco’s head, staring into the crackling fire. “Hey, Young Vein,” Disco greeted, after a couple minutes of Vein staring up at the sky.

 

“Hey Disco,” He smiled, picking at his fingers.

 

“Listen, Vein…” Disco rasped, hesitant. “I don’t think I have as long as you think, I-”

 

“Disco, stop, please?” Vein shifted to face him. “We’re close to Zone 5, and Daylight Drug can help you okay? You have to stop thinking like that!”

 

“I think Daylight is gonna say the same thing I’ve been saying Vein,” He stared up at the stars, they twinkled and some blinked, Vein remembers when they were younger, they had tried to guess which ones were satellites. “I’m not afraid of it anymore Vein, I know I’m sicker than you’ve been saying.”

 

“You can’t say that stuff Disco, look, I’ll wake  them up and we’ll reach Zone 5 by morning,” He started to stand.

 

“No, Vein…” Disco protested.

 

“No it’s fine, they’ll understand, the quicker you’re up and--”

 

 _“Ryan!”_ Disco pressed, grabbing Vein’s hand and pulling himself to a sitting position. Young Vein halted in his steps and Mona Lisa stirred in his sleep.

 

He sat back down.

 

“I’m not gonna make it Ryan.” He pressed his hands onto Vein’s shoulders. “You have to let me go if I don’t.”

 

“I can’t accept that… Brent,” He wrung his hands. “You heard what Hot Chimp said, Daylight Drug can help you.”

 

“That was _days_ ago Ryan, now the radio won’t work and we don’t know what’s happened in that time. I’m okay Ryan, and you’ll be okay too.” He waved his hands toward the Green Man and Mona Lisa. “You have Jon and Spencer, and they’re such great people, I have _never_ been happier than when I was with you and them. I wouldn’t be okay if I thought I was leaving you with people that didn’t make you happy.”

 

“I-” He paused. “I can’t give up Brent, even if you have, I _can’t,_ I told your mom I would take care of you.”

 

“Funny,” Brent smiled. “My mom told me to take care of you.”

 

“We _have_ to try Zone 5 Brent,” He insisted. “I _can’t lose you_.”

 

Brent wrapped his scabbing, red arms around Ryan’s neck, hugging him. “I’m sorry I got sick Ryan.”

 

Ryan brought his arms around Brent’s back, burying his face in Brent’s rough jacket. “I’m sorry too,” He whispered.

 

* * *

 

 

The Mona Lisa drove when they set off the next morning, and Green Man sat in back with Disco.

 

Young Vein put on a pair of old sunglasses and stared at the dusty road in front of them. “Zone 5 is lot more dense than Zone 3.” Mona observed three hours into the drive, and Vein hit his knees onto the bottom of the dashboard he was so surprised.

 

“When did we get into Zone 5!?” He yelled.

 

“About half an hour back,” Mona swerved to avoid a spare Joshua tree growing on the side of the road. “See! There are so many rocks and shit! It makes no sense why they don’t clean up a little.” He waved a hand annoyedly at the road in front of them.

 

Green Man chuckled from the seat behind him, “You should see Zone 6.”

 

“No, don’t tell me I don’t even wanna _know_ what kinda creepy stuff they got up in Zone 6.”

 

“People grow _third eyes_ up in Zone 6!” Green Man laughed, Vein smiled and added: “and tails!”

 

“Shut up shut up shut up!” Mona Lisa shook his head, trying to keep the wheel steady. “I don’t want to think about that while I’m driving!”

 

“Hideous Monsters from beyond the Zones!” Green Man lowered his voice and shook his hands in front of him, “Oh god, Steven what’s happening to me?” He pitched his voice like a woman’s, then went back to his normal voice. “Oh my god, Sarah… your face! It’s hideous!” Vein let out a high pitched scream that made Mona laugh so hard he snorted.

 

He could even hear Disco’s raspy laugh from the backseat.

 

The Green Man kept egging Mona on, and Young Vein’s smile faded as he looked out at Zone 5.

 

The saw the pile of rubble around mid-afternoon. It seemed to go on forever, wood and concrete and mud, all torn apart like there had been a tornado. “Looks like ray-guns did this.” Green Man guessed.

 

The Land Rover couldn’t get past all the rubble, so Young Vein instructed Mona to get out with him and try to clear a path, Green Man would drive.

 

Ten minutes of this and Vein was already exhausted, he stood up straight to stretch his back and wiped the sweat from his brow. Off in the distance he saw a lone figure, tall and skinny, all in black. “Hey,” He said, to get Mona Lisa’s attention.

 

“What?” He stood and followed Vein’s line of sight. “Oh,” Mona shielded his eyes from the sun. “What do you think it is?”

 

“Could be a wave-head or…” The figure turned it’s head toward them and Vein saw it’s black mask. “Or a Killjoy.” He cupped his hands over his mouth. “Hey! Over here!” he waved his hands over his head. The figure started in their direction.

 

“What are doing!?” Mona asked, incredulous.

 

“He might know a better way around all this, like another road or something.”

 

“ _Or_ , he could be a total psychopath.”

 

Young Vein sighed and pulled his light blue mask from around his neck over his eyes, Mona did the same with his maroon and gold one. Then  Vein hopped over a bit of concrete to shake the man in black’s hand. “Hi,” He held his hand out. The other Killjoy only stared at him.

 

“What are you doing here.” He said, his voice rough, it wasn’t a question.

 

Young Vein pulled his hand back awkwardly. “Um, sorry, maybe you could show us a different route through…”

 

“We’re just trying to find Daylight Drug,” Mona interrupted. “I’m sorry if we… intruded on something…”

 

“Daylight Drug?” The Killjoy whispered, and pulled his mask up onto his black hair, revealing electric blue eyes. Young Vein and Mona Lisa followed his lead to be polite. “I guess you’re in the right place then.”

 

“I’m sorry?” Mona Lisa asked.

 

“Welcome to Zone 5, you might as well leave ‘cause there’s _nothing_ to see here!” He annunciated this by kicking a small piece of concrete a few yards away.

 

“Excuse me… are you Daylight Drug?” Young Vein asked and the man turned away, one hand on his hip and the other to his face. He stayed like that for a moment before turning back to them.

 

“No, no I’m not.” He smiled crazily before frowning.

 

“Can you tell us where he is?” Mona questioned.

 

‘Do you listen to the radio?” The man countered. “Or do you live under a rock?”

 

“Our radio’s broken.” Mona squeaked.

 

“Well he’s dead, just so you know.” The man shook his head. “Daylight Drug is dead.”

 

“What?” Vein stared, “No we… we came all this way--”

 

“Grab your friends and I’ll show you,” The man started to walk away and Mona ran to grab Green Man from the Land Rover. The man didn’t listen as Young Vein yelled at him to wait.

 

The left Danger Disco in the Land Rover, sleeping peacefully, as the black Killjoy led them to somewhere in the middle of the stretch of rubble. The skeletons of former buildings grew more numerous here, and Vein thought he could see an arm sticking out from underneath a thick wall of wood.

 

Vultures circled overhead.

 

“I grew up here.” The man said. “These people were my family.”

 

“You said Daylight Drug was dead,” Young Vein pressed.

 

“Yes,” He stopped, standing above uneven ground, marked with a cross. “His mother too.” He gestured at the wood grave marker. “I came back two days ago to bury her.”

 

“Daylight Drug can’t be dead, we heard about him on the radio a couple weeks ago.” The Green Man insisted.

 

“He stood right here, it was pouring rain, and I watched, I _watched,”_ He spit. “I saw his body fall, and then his mother’s, I saw him die.”

 

They stared at him, Young Veins eyes were blurry with tears.

 

“You know what really scares me?” The Killjoy asked. “Not the Scarecrow, or even BLi anymore… What really scares me is that his body is gone.”

 

* * *

 

 

Young Vein sat at the grave while Mona Lisa and The Green Man carried Disco out of the car to a clear space to sleep. The man had introduced himself as Sixx and sat with him, telling him what had happened.

 

Vein could only stare at the wooden cross of Daylight Drug’s mother's grave, adorned with a tiny metal bird.

 

“They came from the city led by a scarecrow,” He had said. “I remember putting little kids into that house over there,” He pointed at a mud skeleton frame. “Then they just came… wrecking everything without restraint, they toppled every building they could… I saw them all die.”

 

Young Vein picked at the sand.

 

“I came back and married his mother and his body was gone… I didn’t know what to do so I left, then had to come back because I kept seeing their faces,” Sixx gulped. “I kept seeing their faces… staring into the sky, getting their eyes picked out by vultures… The their bodies disappeared too… Anyone above the rubble… Just, _gone.”_

 

“Where are they?” Vein asked quietly.

 

“I don’t know…” Sixx stared at his hands. “Daylight’s went first and then… I don’t know what happened. Worst case… BLi took them for those experiments people are always saying they do.”

 

Vein looked over at his friends, pushing each other around, trying to start the fire. Danger Disco sat with his blanket around his shoulders, laughing at the Green Man and Mona Lisa.

 

“Your friend… Radiation poisoning?” Sixx asked.

 

“Something like that… He was always a little sick,” Vein cracked his knuckles against the ground. “Even when were kids he was getting colds.”

 

“And now he’s dying.” Sixx pulled no punches, and Vein nodded. “I think your friend has been dead for a long time, and I think he knows that. I think even a man like Daylight Drug could tell you that.”

 

They both looked at Disco, who briefly turned and waved, smiling brightly. Young Vein waved back. Sixx continued, “You would have liked him,” Sixx smiled. “He was kind, you don’t get that in the desert a lot, and polite, and a heck of a lot smarter than a lot of the people he hung around…” He stood and fixed the little bird on the grave marker. “He knew what he was doing, or at least acted like it.”

 

“We came all this way…” Vein muttered. “I can’t watch my friend die.”

 

“Like I said,” Sixx patted him on the back. “I think your friend’s been dead a long time.”

 

Young Vein cries then, the first time he has in a long time. Quiet tears fall to the sand below him, scattered like the stars in the sky.

 

* * *

 

 

Young Vein joined his friends after dark, sitting around the fire as they talked. Disco had fallen asleep, and Sixx slept a few yards away next to his motorcycle.

 

Young Vein laid back to watch the stars and Mona and the Green Man fell asleep soon after.

 

“Hey,” Disco whispered. Young Vein turned on his side so they were face to face. “I’ve slept on a lot of different kinds of sand, but this has got to be the worst of the bunch.” Young Vein gave a breathy laugh and Disco smiled.

 

“You can’t see the stars from the Land Rover.” Young Vein countered.

 

“True, but there isn’t any rubble or dead bodies in the Land Rover.” Disco’s whole demeanor changed. “Did you hear what Sixx was saying? _A massacre_ , Vein.”

 

“I know… Listen, we can find someone else to--”

 

“No, stop, let’s just not talk about that okay? I just want to talk to you.”

 

“...Ok.” Vein murmured and Disco smiled.

 

“Do you remember when we were little and lived around the edge of the city?”

 

“Uh huh.” Vein nodded.

 

“I remember your mom getting you new shoes when you turned nine, but they didn’t fit until you were fourteen so you just kicked them off and burned your feet on the sand.”

 

Young Vein laughed quietly.. “Yeah, my mom bandaged me up every night and my aunt hit you on the back of the head because you didn’t stop me.”

 

“What did your dad always say he would do if you didn’t stop?” Disco turned to stare at the dark blue sky. “Something like, if you kept hurting yourself he would cut them off so you couldn’t burn them anymore?”

 

Yeah, then my Grandpa would say that it was the only way to stop me from burning myself until I grew into them, he would _agree_ with my dad about cutting my feet off!” Disco laughed, and then got all quiet, he turned Vein and said:

 

“Listen, Ryan, I want you to cut me off.”

 

“Brent--”

 

“Ryan, please don’t argue with m--” He let out a stream of bone rattling coughs into his closed fist. Ryan sat up quickly and rubbed his back until he stopped.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Brent stared at his hand. “Yeah I’m-” He wiped his hand on his blanket, it left a dark stain. “Just… Good night Ryan.”

 

Ryan stared at him, then at the blood on the blanket. “Oh um, goodnight Brent.” Brent shifted away to face the opposite direction. Ryan’s hands shook as he also shifted away, staring at the blood. He faced away, using his nervous hands as a pillow.

 

Two minutes later he heard Brent say: “I’m sorry, Ryan.”

 

“Me too.”

 

* * *

 

 

He woke up on his back, facing Disco, early in the morning. The sky had turned purple with anticipation for the sun, and he could still see the flecks of stars, still lazily waiting in the sky.

 

“Disco,” He whispered, “Hey Disco, wake up or you’ll miss the sunrise.” Disco didn’t respond, still turned away from Young Vein as a result of last night. “Come on man, I know you’re awake, you're always early.” He poked Disco’s back.

 

Nothing.

 

Young Vein shifted so he could kneel on the ground, stretching, keeping his eyes on the horizon. He shook Disco’s shoulder, “Come on Disco! You love sunrises!” Disco lay still. Young Vein pushed him onto his back. “Disco?”

 

His face was blank and his eyes sealed shut. Vein sucked in a shaky breath and smoothed hair off of his friends red, and peeling skin. _“Brent?”_

 

Nothing.

 

Young Vein falls beside him, on his back. Silent tears made their way down his cheeks.

 

_“I’m sorry, Ryan.”_

 

He sat up, leaning on his knees, facing the now rising sun. The sky turned red, making the desert seem like it was bleeding. Daylight Drug’s home crumbled around them all, holding its ghosted former residents in a constant firefight.

 

Maybe Brent would join them.

 

The desert didn’t care that a Killjoy had died that day, and neither did the sun. It rose just like when he was a kid living on the edge of the city, and he watched it just like he had then.

 

* * *

 

 

They buried him that same afternoon, with Sixx helping, next to Daylight Drug’s mother. Mona Lisa cried when Sixx said a prayer to a goddess named Destroya, and they hung his purple mask on the little wooden cross Green Man had tied together.

 

Sixx pulled out a small silver knife and asked them who would give blood to the desert. Vein went forward without question, wanting to respect Sixx’s customs. He was the only one of their small group, beside’s Sixx, to not shed a tear.

 

He felt dry and empty.

 

“The Phoenix Witch will find him, and Destroya will welcome him home.” Sixx explained, as inky red drops of Vein’s blood pattered onto the sand.

 

They burned Disco’s extra clothes and blanket at Mona Lisa’s behest. He was superstitious, and afraid of whatever sickness Disco might have had might spread.

 

Ryan watched his best friend go up in smoke. Then he helped pack up the Land Rover. “Where do you think you’ll be heading after this?” The Green Man asked of Sixx.

 

“Not sure,” He laced his mask back over his face. “I have to find out what happened to their bodies, so maybe somewhere close to the city, Zone 1 maybe. What about you?”

 

“I’m not sure, we have to get this radio fixed, along with some of the suspension so probably to a garage.” Mona patted the hood of the Land Rover.

 

“I would go to Zone 4, DJ Hot Chimp broadcasts from there and just east of her station is a place that’s real reliable, no chance of any BLi interference,” Sixx mounted his bike, pushing the kickstand up. “Fixed me and my bike up more times than I can count.”

 

“What’s it called?” Green Man asked.

 

“Oh, you’ll know it when you see it, it’s real colorful,” He revved his engine. “Oh, and Young Vein?” He called above the motor, and Vein stepped out from behind his friends. “... I’m sorry this didn’t happen like you hoped, uh… Hang in there for me?”

 

Vein nodded and Sixx gave him a small smile, before turning his bike around. It left a cloud of sand in its wake.

 

Mona and Green Man sat in front, with Green Man driving, they both tossed concerned looks back at him once in awhile. Mona was still sniffling from earlier.

 

He sat where he usually sat, behind the driver, and avoided looking at the seat where Brent used to be.

 

They made it past DJ Hot Chimps station just before dark, Mona Lisa banging on the radio the whole way. They slept in Chimps small parking lot at her permission, in the Land Rover, and Young Vein stared at the colorful graffiti that covered her building all night.

 

All manner of colorful monkeys and quotes, expertly painted on her wood slat station. He doesn’t think he got any sleep, and neither did Green Man or Mona. Yet he remembers coming to, early in the morning, expecting Brent to be shaking him awake to see the sun rise in the East. Then he remembered and stared at the wall some more until Chimp pounded on the driver’s side door and served them a morning can of Power Pup.

 

“Tell the boys over at the garage I said hi,” Dj Hot Chimp’s voice was low and scratchy as she pointed in the direction of the garage, “and the tall one owes me carbons.”

 

“You got it Chimp.” Green Man yawned. “Thank you.”

 

“Thanks DJ,” Mona Lisa echoed.

 

“Yeah, thanks.” Vein stared down at his gray car seat.

 

Mona Lisa drove the rest of the way, yawning the whole time, Vein stayed in the backseat. It wasn’t until The Green Man let out a hearty: “Holy Shit!” Vein wasn’t entirely aware of his surroundings.

 

One of the largest buildings Vein had ever seen outside the city, enveloped him. Only two stories tall, it was surrounded by hastily kept grass, already dying in the heat of the day, and scenic pathways that were sinking into the sand.

 

Mailboxes, each with its own number, surrounded the building, wind chimes hung from every loose board, and lawn ornaments welcomed them all through a small gate.

 

The building itself was covered in graffiti, tye dye and fancy names, and pictures of the desert and the city. A graffiti nurse pulling a blue glove over her hand smiled slyly at them from the front of the building.

 

Green Man parked next to a garden full of dead flowers and plastic flamingos, and they all filed out of the Land Rover toward a rickety looking front porch, a neon yellow sign exclaiming _OPEN for BITCHES_ put Vein at ease.

 

The patio creaked under their weight and Mona stared at his reflection in a huge ball of blown glass, while things that Vein could only describe as _doodads_ hung from the ceiling. Windchimes fluttered in the breeze, one that looked like it was made of hollow bones clacked against each other, making a hollow, haunting sound.

 

It made Young Vein shiver.

 

The Green Man tugged at the flimsy patio door, only for it to slam in his face and a girl with bright orange hair angrily storming past them all towards an old rusted pickup.

 

“Well,” Green Man shook his head. “Okay.” Then walked in.

 

More decorations hung from the ceiling, ceramic suns and moons, some with faces, and the room was lit with old yellow arcade lights. The floor was made of fading black and white vinyl tile and covered in rugs of varying ugliness. Little ceramic and plastic trinkets lined the floor next to the walls, which were covered in just as much graffiti as the outside, save for a few framed pictures hanging from rusty nails.

 

“I know this is just the entryway,” Mona gaped, open mouthed at the spectacle before him. “But there is no way this is a garage.”

 

They filed through the next door, past a rack of spices, and were met with what Vein guessed was a front desk and more coy neon signs. One advertised: _The Babyface Garage and SHITHOLE_.

 

A yellowing piece of paper sat next to a little silver call bell and said: _Ring for service._

 

The Green Man pushed the button for the call bell, making a resolute _ding!_ Chime through the whole room. Old pre Helium Wars arcade games and signs continued to twinkle.

 

A couple of seconds past, then, a small _thump!_ From under the desk, and a whispered _“Ouch!”_ and a tall skinny man with sharp features appeared, welcoming them with a sly smile. “Hello,” He said, “Welcome to our humble abode, are you here for the garage or the other shit?”

 

“Uh,” Mona Lisa so eloquently put, “The garage?”

 

“Wonderful!” The man clapped, “Lead me to your car?” He came out from behind the desk and Vein saw he was taller than he had originally thought. He towered over all three of them easily, and head just brushed the decorations hanging from the high ceiling.

 

“Sure,” Mona said through his amazement. “Right this way.” He gestured to the entryway, then led them all out of the building to the Land Rover. Young Vein and Green Man followed.

 

“Oh, she’s beautiful!” The tall man said of the car, brushing his hand over the hood.

 

“Thank you!” Mona Lisa smiled proudly. “I put her back together myself.”

 

“So what’s the problem?” Tall guy questioned. “If you know how to fix cars why bring her to a garage?”

 

“I’m more of an engine guy,” Mona seemed uncharacteristically embarrassed. “I got her from a guy who was more into exterior restoration, so I’m bad at framework, everytime I turn her on I can feel the suspension coming more and more loose. Plus the radio is busted.”

 

“Hm,” The man thought for a moment. “The suspension will take a few hours, but we can find a new radio back in my shop. My partner will take a look at the rest of your car, can you drive it to the the left of the building? The garage is there.”

 

“Sure.” Mona agreed and the tall guy pointed out a path through all the lawn ornaments he could take, then he lead Green Man and Vein back through the front entrance.

 

“You guys can take a look around the Shithole for a radio, and tell me if you see anything cool you want to buy.” The man pulled out a small stack of papers. “Now,” He pulled out an old chewed pencil. “What should I call your group on our registry?”

 

The Green Man glanced at Vein, “Sometimes we go as the Danger Blues.” Vein knew why he was hesitant, Brent had chosen that name. Young Vein turned to stare at old lit beer advertisements.

 

In the desert, death was seen as if the person was going away for long weekend. It was too easy for Mona and Green Man to see it as if Brent had simply left, nothing to cry about. Vein hated them a little for that. In the city, even just on the edge, near the walls, death was a whispered secret. When it came around, it was treated with respect and fear. He remembers his mother obsessing over his Grandmother's funeral for weeks.

 

Her body had been burned before they got a chance to go through with the ceremony, however.

 

“Wonderful!” The man slammed the registry shut and said, “If you need anything, my friends all call me Brobeck!”

 

“Green Man,” he introduced himself, then waved his hand at Vein. “That’s Young Vein, and you already met Mona Lisa.”

 

“Lovely to meet you both, you can look around for your car radio, or if you want, follow me to the garage to meet my associate.”

 

Green Man stayed behind to sift through all the junk for a radio, and Vein realized why it was called The Shithole. He followed Brobeck to the garage through a maze of crowded shelving and rickety piles of old trinkets and other crap. “So…” Vein asked as he past a section of shelving that only held various creepy dolls. “How did you come to own all this… uh, _shit?_ ”

 

“Well, my mom once told me I have a compulsive need for clutter,” Brobeck disappeared behind a pile of old faded books for second, then reappeared holding a rusty screwdriver. “But I think she was pulling my leg? I don’t know, I just like picking things up… and then keeping them.”

 

“And selling them.” Vein added.

 

Brobeck nodded, then grimaced, “Well, sometimes.”

 

Before Vein got the chance to sarcastically reply, Brobeck swung open a vibrant red door and tapped the screwdriver on the door frame. “Brought you a present!”

 

A high pitched voice came from under a raised, dusty, cherry convertible. “Is it that stupid screwdriver I told you I needed _three_ days ago?”

 

“Yep!” Brobeck smirked, “Can you believe I _just_ found it!?”

 

“No.” A man rolled out from underneath the convertible. He was short and stocky, the exact opposite of Brobeck, and had a surprisingly childish face and voice. He stood and wiped the grease off his hands, then snatched the screwdriver from Brobeck’s thin fingers. “Hey, you must be the other owner of that beauty of over there.” He greeted Young Vein and waved over to the Land Rover, where Mona was sitting on the hood.

 

Young Vein nodded, and Brobeck said: “This is my associate and owner of the garage, Baby Snake. Baby Snake, Young Vein, Young Vein, Baby Snake.”

 

They shook hands. “If your name is Baby Snake, why does the sign say ‘Babyface’?” Vein asked.

 

“Well, it used to be Babyface, but there was an incident a while ago with a few snakes and well…” Baby Snake glared at Brobeck, who only smiled coyly like when they had first met. “Anyway, welcome to the garage! I’ll get started on your Land Rover in a few minutes, so have fun looking around.” He said this to both Mona and Young Vein.

 

The garage was all concrete and metal, half of it was open to the desert to allow cars in and Vein could see three more cars outside, covered in dirty sheets. The walls inside were decorated with pictures in frames and less professional looking graffiti, proclaiming things Vein didn’t quite understand, like: _Slim Sin + Shadow Shore 5ever!!!_ and: _Cold Dead Hands rock the world!_ and even: _MAD GEAR IS HAWT._

 

Vein joined Mona Lisa on the hood of his car. Who yawned and stared up at the concrete ceiling. “Snake invited us to stay for lunch.”

 

Vein shrugged, “Maybe.”

 

“It wasn’t exactly a question, he still has to fix our car.”

 

Brobeck and Baby Snake laughed about something from the other side of the room. “I’m not hungry,” Vein pulled his knees into his chest.

 

“That’s okay.” Mona responded.

 

Someone stomped into the garage from the desert entrance, and Mona and Vein sat up, alert. He had black hair and a few scattered piercings. An orange mask hung around his neck. His face was twisted in a sour expression.

 

“How’s it going Lightning?” Brobeck smiled.

 

“There’s a Bather leaning on our Chevy.” Lightning’s face remained sour.

 

“Another Wave Head, huh?” Brobeck leaned and grabbed a half-filled bottle of water from a nearby shelf, he tossed it in the kid’s direction, who caught it with one hand. “That should get them out of your hair.” Lightning left without thanking him.

 

“Well isn’t he just a peach?” Brobeck rolled his eyes then turned into Vein and Mona’s questioning gazes. “They’re just another group, they’re hanging around until we get some tires shipped in from the city.”

 

“They blew two of them in some firefight in Zone 5.” Baby Snake added from under his convertible.

 

“You’ll see the rest of them at lunch.” Brobeck added.

 

“What do you mean you’re getting tires from the city?” Mona asked. Young Vein leaned back on the Land Rover’s windshield.

 

“If you’re gonna run a garage in the desert, you need connections,” Baby Snake grunted from under the convertible. “Underground tunnels and a couple of Bin Rats looking to make a few carbons, transport’s been a bit slow lately, something about a riot near the entrance to the Getaway Mile.”

 

“We never heard anything about a riot.” Mona Lisa says in confusion.

 

“That’s because we didn’t have radio.” The Green Man smiled from the doorway, holding a box up with one hand.

 

“Shiny!” Mona pushed himself off the hood of the car and Vein followed. Baby Snake slid out from under the red car and grabbed the box.

 

“I’ll take a look at your car later,” He set the box on a small table. “But right now? Lunch!” He slapped Brobeck on the back, who stumbled forward gasping.

 

“Alright!” Brobeck slammed Snake lightly on the arm. “Be an angel and grab our other guests?” Baby Snake clicked his tongue twice and backed out of the garage, pointing at Brobeck with two hands. “Follow me.” Brobeck led all three of them back into The Shithole.

 

They dodged around the shelf of creepy dolls a second time and Green Man asked: “So how big is the place anyway?”

 

“Pretty fuckin’ big,” Brobeck supplied. “There's this floor, with the garage, and then the second floor, where Baby Snake and I live, but he won’t let me keep any of my stuff up there, like he’s afraid of it falling on him or something!” Out of the corner of his eye, Vein could see Baby Snake rolling his eyes.

 

“I’m afraid of the floor caving in, that’s what.” He snapped. “It’s not like this floor is ready to spill into the basement anyway!”

 

“You have a basement?” Mona asked.

 

“Yeah,” Brobeck tossed a sly grin in Baby Snake’s direction, “But it’s been blocked off for _ages_. I think it was a shelter during the Helium Wars, we’ve been trying to bust it open forever.”

 

They weaved around a small pile of decorative vases, chipped and cracked from their time in the desert, and came to a small space on the right side of the building.

 

A tiny kitchen with the same black and white vinyl tile, an old folding table, surrounded by mismatched folding chairs sat by a large split window, which were opened a couple inches to the desert. The ugliest floral curtains Young Vein had ever seen draped over a sliding screen door that opened to a tiny deck, which surveyed more dried grass and ugly lawn ornaments.

 

Brobeck was obviously very proud of his work.

 

“Here sit, sit.” He started pulling out chairs and Baby Snake indicated they should sit down and then left, coming back a minute later with Lightning and the girl they had seen earlier, plus another guy they hadn’t seen. He introduced himself as Crash, and the girl with orange hair apologized for almost running them all over earlier. She was quiet and reserved and told them to call her Secret Lover.

 

Brobeck pulled a few extra folding chairs from nowhere and smiled wide. “I haven’t had this many people over for a meal in such a long time!”

 

“Better break out the good silverware, huh?” Baby Snake smiled gently. Brobeck immediately opened a cupboard, just about to fall from it’s hinges, and dug out a faded pink box. He placed one plastic fork in front of everyone, all clean and white in contrast to their container.

 

“So we’re gonna have our usual can of Power Pup… Then I thought we could have Baby Snake’s sweet tea for dessert?” Brobeck took a sharp glance toward Baby Snake.

 

“Go ahead.” Baby Snake waved his hand in nonchalance.

 

Brobeck rocketed toward a dusty red cooler and set a can of Power Pup on the table, opened it and passed it to Baby Snake, then repeated this with everyone else. Brobeck pulled one out for Young Vein after the fourth time, and Vein stopped him.

 

“I-” He took a deep breath. “I’m not hungry Brobeck, but thank you.” Brobeck looked up at him, frozen, his hand hovering over the top of the can.

 

“Young Vein-” The Green Man started.

 

“I’m fine, I just--” He stood from his chair. “I can’t do this right now.” he opened the screen door and stepped onto the porch, slamming the door behind him. He leaned against the wood railing, breathing heavily.

 

Everything from the last few days flooded back to him, the ruins of Daylight Drug’s village and his buried mother, the bodies poking out from under the rubble, and Brent’s final proclamation of cutting him off. His burial and Vein’s failure to cry, he pressed down on the bandage on his right hand, where Sixx had dragged his silver knife, giving Young Vein’s blood to the desert. Then he saw his mother and father, their bodies burned in the fire.

 

His tears from yesterday finally clouded his eyes. He sniffed, out of the corner of his eye he could see a bright pink lawn chair, it sunk down to the floor and for a moment Vein thought it was Brent sitting there.

 

Young Vein whipped around, gasping, he braced himself on the railing.

 

Same pink, peeling skin and chapped lips, the man basked in the sun.

 

 _Not Brent_ , Vein told himself, _it’s not Brent._  

 

He pushed his way back into the kitchen, his eyes red and breathing heavily. “There’s a--” He tried to steady himself against a chair. “You have a Wave Head on your porch.”

 

Baby Snake stood and swung open the two windows and leaned out to glance at the man in the pink lawn chair. Instead of asking for water to shoo the Wave Head away, he smiled. “Glass is here!” He said to Brobeck, who perked up.

 

“Really? We haven’t seen him for ages!”

 

Vein didn’t stay to hear the rest. He hurried farther into the building, intending to go to the Land Rover. But the maze of shelves and piles turned him around until he wasn’t sure where he was anymore and he realized that maybe Brobeck and Snake were the only people that could find their way around. He slid to the floor in front of a shelf of creepy dolls.

 

He grabbed one from its stand on the shelf and squeezed it's maroon dress, his fingers got tangled in its messy blonde hair and it stared at him through half lidded eyes.

 

Tears trailed down his cheeks and he twisted its head from its plastic body.

 

* * *

 

He stayed there for the longest time, lost in the eyes of dolls and teddy bears. Until Green Man and Mona Lisa appeared and sat with him.

 

They offered him a small cup of a cold brown liquid, he took it but didn’t drink.

 

The Green Man shifted to sit in front of him and Mona followed. “Baby Snake is going to fix our car now. We should be on our way by tomorrow.” Green Man said. Young Vein nodded.

 

“They invited that Wave Head you saw inside, he wasn’t even mad that they broke his high, he’s pretty chill, you would like him.” Mona offered. “But that guy Lightning has something against Wave Heads, he calls them Bathers, and stormed out when they invited Glass in.”

 

The Wave Head’s name is Glass, it wasn’t Brent.

 

“Disco would’ve liked this place.” Green Man grabbed a dusty teddy bear from the shelf behind him. Young Vein stared into the brown liquid and wondered if it was the ‘Sweet Tea’ Brobeck had talked about.

 

Mona Lisa stared at him then placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ryan.”

 

“It’s okay, Spencer.”

 

“No it’s not.” Green Man scooted closer. “We're so used to losing people, we sometimes forget that you’re from the city, and that you’re not.” He glanced at Spencer. “We just buried people when we were younger, then said goodbye. We didn’t have time to put funerals together like you did and we didn’t give you the time you needed either.”

 

“Thank you, Jon.” Ryan pushed his tears away.

 

Spencer held up his glass of Sweet Tea. “To Brent?” Jon and Ryan clinked their own glasses up to his.

 

“To Brent.” Jon confirmed and Ryan nodded. They drank, and the tea hit his tongue with the sweetest thing he had ever tasted in the desert.

 

“Let’s go meet Glass.” Spencer pulled him to his feet. “He’s real nice, you’ll like him.”

 

_“Pain, unless it is physical, was sold to you (by your culture).”_

_―_ _Mokokoma Mokhonoana_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The desert continues to enchant me.
> 
> This was a bit of a filler, but definitely my favorite to write! I just needed to establish a few new locations and characters, like DALLON AND KENNY, they have minds of their own I swear I had no intention of making Dallon a hoarder
> 
> Why quotes instead of Morse code you ask? Think of this as the beginning to Act 2 of our little Adventure.


	9. Sale

_“It is not despair, for despair is only for those who see the end beyond all doubt. We do not.”_

_―_ _J.R.R. Tolkien_ _,_ _The Fellowship of the Ring_

 

Patrick hates Zone 1.

 

 _Hate is such a strong word._ His mother would say.

 

Well, it was true. Patrick _hates_ Zone 1.

 

It was too flat and close to the city. The sun beat down onto the sand and burned his skin. There were no big rocks and joshua trees to sit or lean against, and no caves to crawl into and cool yourself off. He remembers his father telling him stories of how his grandparents had lived underground before they learned how to make huts out of mud and rock.

 

The wind would rip around him and make the sand sting his face. He had to keep reminding himself that the only reason he was in Zone 1 was to prevent these problems in the first place.

 

The biggest market in the Zones was in Zone 1. He would barter with the few carbons he had and the clothes off his back for a new mask and more food.

 

But goddamnit, he hates Zone 1.

 

The wound in his forehead had finally closed, and his skin returned to its pale, _alive_ looking color and yet Patrick still found it in his heart to feel just the slightest bit bitter and afraid about the whole thing. Afraid he would wake up and be nothing but rotting flesh on cracking bone. Bitter, because he was just that kind of guy.

 

The market was in squinting distance of Battery City, and it made Patrick nervous, always looking over his shoulder at the faint outline.

 

As if he would see fire and ray gun blasts hurtling towards them all from the sky above.

 

Everyone else, however, was perfectly at ease under the City's shadow. They weaved around him, talking and laughing, perfectly comfortable under the hot sun.

 

Tattoo artists nodded and beckoned for him to come closer, and clerks at open air stalls yelled at him, apparently making deals he _‘just can’t find anywhere else in the Zones, Oh no sweetheart!’._

 

He watched a couple boys run past, hooting and hollering into the air, jumping onto each other's shoulders.

 

He watched everyone in Zone 1. Fascinated by their openness and excitement over nothing.

 

His own village in Zone 5 was quiet. Creativity was left open and encouraged, fawned over and never stopped. But these people must have come from the city, where his mother had told him that art was scorned and music, a sin.

 

He watched a girl with wild green hair pull another girl with a shaved head into a side alley between stalls, they kissed each other like they hadn’t seen the other in weeks, or maybe months. He saw a boy with tight clothes and a tiny skirt, yell for his friends, then, as if he had made the decision seconds before, let a tiny woman with tattoos on her face shave one side of his head right there in the middle of the street.

 

Patrick smiled, a little less angry.

 

A little sign advertised: _Chow Mein!_ With an arrow pointing down the street. He followed it, thinking Tommy must have upgraded from the van he had when Patrick was younger.

 

Tommy Chow Mein’s shop was set up to be a little more permanent than the other stalls, a little shack, painted green and yellow with the same little sign staked out front. He stepped inside.

 

Most of the merchandise was hung from the walls on hooks, and little tables and shelves were gathered in the middle. The man himself sat behind a desk, his feet propped up as he sat back on rickety looking chair. Behind him, a white electric guitar, he stared at it for a minute, entranced until Tommy glanced at him with one open eye.

 

Patrick gripped the few plastic carbons in his jacket pocket and awkwardly stepped behind a shelf full of cans of hair dye. He stared at a package for blond dye, reading the directions halfheartedly and wondering how many carbons Tommy would be willing to take for the guitar.

 

He could see a rack of expertly painted masks right next to Tommy’s desk, but for the life of him, he couldn’t will himself to get any closer.

 

A sweet looking boy with a thin face entered, heading straight to Tommy, and Patrick took his chance to stand behind him and look over the rack. He quickly chose a pale yellow mask, dark feathers were painted on one side. They were so realistic, that Patrick thought they had been glued on.

 

Tommy laughed about something the thin boy had said and the boy sighed heavily. “They don’t call you the Wild Blue Fool for nothing kid!” Tommy chuckled.

 

The kid mumbled, “They don’t, my name is the _Wild Blue,_ nothing else!”

 

“I’m still not gonna sell you a blaster!” Tommy laughed. “You’re the worst shot I’ve ever seen, _and_ you don’t have anything to trade. Come back when I’ve lowered my standards!”

 

The boy turned around in a huff, letting Patrick catch a glance at his mask, which depicted an elaborately painted cloudy sky. Tommy watched him leave over Patrick’s shoulder, then let out a heavy sigh. “That kid is too young to be a Killjoy,” he explained. “Nice kid though, but he made his deathwish before his time.”

 

“Oh,” Patrick fingered the mask’s string, then set it in front of Tommy. “How much?”

 

“Well…” Tommy thought about it. “Masks are either 2 carbons or… one of your shoelaces.”

 

Patrick immediately bent down to remove his left boot. Tommy chuckled again, deep and raspy, “So kid… what should I call you? If you’re buying a mask, you must want to be a Killjoy.”

 

Patrick undid the laces and balled them up on the counter. “Benzedrine.” He pushed his boot back on, now uncomfortably loose.

 

“Benzedrine?” Tommy took the shoelaces and straightened them out on the counter. “A drug for euphoria…False happiness.” His tone was strangely somber. “Enjoy the rest of your short life motorbaby.”

 

“Will do.” Patrick placed the mask over his face, taking one more quick glance at the white guitar, then walked out of the shop a new man, _Benzedrine_.

 

He wasn’t Daylight Drug anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

The woman who sold him a bag of Power Pup wasn’t nearly as loose with her system as Tommy was. She wouldn’t trade, and after he tried to barter his leather jacket she got so angry that she yelled, in broken english, that if he didn’t give her her ten carbons she would shove a can of Power Pup up his cute little ass.

 

He wasn’t sure if she meant to say cute or not, but he wasn’t really keen on asking.

 

He paid and hustled out of the shop as quick as he could.

 

He ate one for lunch in the shade of a stall. Two boys grabbed at each other a couple feet away, they didn’t seem to mind that he was there first. He was too hungry to care anyway.

 

He left the can with an old lady, hauling around a shopping cart filled with trash, she smiled and pinched his cheek, calling him a sweet little boy. He couldn’t help but blush.

 

A little ways away from the bustling market, a Dead Pegasus gas station stood solitary. It wasn’t as exciting as the Tommy’s or the woman who shaves your head for a few carbons, but it always saw a steady supply of gas. Diesel or otherwise.

 

The little building was barred shut, but the pumps were open and under shade thanks to the awning held up by old stucco columns.

 

A couple of older men sat at an old plastic table, playing a game with fading cards. One man suddenly spread his cards on the table smiling widely, and the rest threw their own on the table in disgust, pushing carbons or bottles of Acid Rain toward him.

 

The old man smiled, gloating about his third win in a row and Patrick rolled his eyes. He walked towards the group with aching feet. “Hey kid,” one of them greeted him with a two finger salute, his long blond hair hid his eyes. “See you finally got your mask.”

 

“Looks good on you doc, brings out those cheekbones!” Another man with spiked up hair and black around his eyes laughed.

 

“Thanks Tre,” Patrick said, “Is Billie here?”

 

“Probably on the roof,” Mike, the man who had won the game earlier, answered. “You got the Pup?”

 

“Yeah, here.” Patrick set the bag on the table, careful not to disrupt the cards. The men cheered.

 

“Good eats!” Tre yelled.

 

“Did you eat already?” The man with long blond hair asked, always worried.

 

“Yeah, don’t worry Kurt.”Patrick said, Kurt nodded and Tre turned around, tossing him a can of Pup.

 

“Give that to Billie or he won’t eat at all today.” Patrick caught the can with both hands and Tre turned around, grabbing all the cards and shuffling. “This time, _I_ get a sip of the Acid.” The rest of the guys groaned but put up their cards anyway.

 

Patrick stumbled around to the back of the gas station and climbed a ladder next to a rusting dumpster.

 

Billie sat on the roof, leaning back on his hands, staring into the desert. He turned when Patrick stomped onto the roof, clutching the Power Pup.

 

“Did they make you do their errands for them again?” He asked.

 

“I don’t mind,” Patrick sat and handed Billie the can. “It’s their carbons anyway.” He watched Billie rip the opening off the can and use the cover as a spoon.

 

“You got your mask,” Billie said, “Now you really are Benzedrine.” He turned to look at the design, “It’s nice, I could have just given you mine to paint over, it would’ve saved some trouble… and your uh, shoelace?” He pointed at Patrick’s left boot.

 

“Either my shoelace or two carbons.”

 

Billie laughed, “Now that’s a steal!” He paused, “But seriously, I could’ve just given you mine.”

 

“That thing is too close to you, Billie, too close to the things you’ve done.” Patrick squinted in the direction of the market. He hoped those two girls were still as happy as he had seen them. “I don’t want to feel like I’m filling somebody’s shoes.”

 

Billie picked at his fingernails. “Start fresh huh?” Patrick nodded. “You know, after the Helium Wars… nobody cared about anything, the whole desert was a fuckin’ free for all. People wanted to get into the city instead of out. Radiation was so bad back then that I saw a baby born with seven fingers, in the end everyone was just sick.”

 

Billie had fought and killed in the Helium Wars, back then his name was The American Idiot, he wore black and red and streaked his eyes with charcoal. Patrick had seen the mask, beaten up and burned, morbidly beautiful, in it’s own way.

 

“Your family was killed Patrick, I know what you mean by wanting a fresh start.” Billie glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Listen, Patrick, you have the mask now, you’re not who you were anymore, you’re Doctor Benzedrine.”

 

“Daylight Drug died with his family.” Patrick clenched his fist. Billie nodded. “Have you learned anything yet?”

 

“About the Scarecrow?” Billie leaned forward, onto his knees. “No, he’s a shadow, and there are probably a hundred like him. Kurt says they’re a new addition to the BL/ind lineup, he’s never heard of them until you came along, and he used to work for them.” Patrick sighed, and laid back onto the hard roof of the gas station.

 

“I have to find him.” Patrick gazed up at the blue desert sky. “He has to pay.”

 

Billie gave him another sidelong glance and peeled the the wrapping off his can of Power Pup. “About two days ago…” He rolled the paper into a little ball, “A kid stopped by, while you were at Tommy’s staring at that guitar, he asked what we knew about Zone 5.”

 

Patrick sat up, “Why? What did he look like?”

 

“He was wearing all black, real thin looking, Kurt was paranoid and didn’t tell him anything, then he was worried it was actually a droid and sent Mike to follow him.”

 

“What was he doing? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Patrick pushed his mask onto his forehead to rub his eyes.

 

“I was worried he was looking for you, and if I told you, you might’ve sought him out.” Billie turned to him. “He was looking for information on what BLi does to bodies, you know, rumors about experiments and stuff i hadn’t heard since the Wars. He threatened a couple of reformed Exterminators to see if they knew anything about stolen bodies.”

 

“Stolen bodies?” Patrick whispered. “Stolen bodies from Zone 5?”

 

“Most likely.”

 

“So… was he even looking for me? Someone from the Massacre?”

 

“Don’t know why he would be looking for your body, but it sounded like he was looking for a lot of people from Mike said.”

 

When Patrick had met Billie, it had been in Zone 3. He was walking, dehydrated and delirious, still covered in dried blood and wet sand. Billie and Kurt had pulled him into their 1980 Audi Quattro and he had lashed out, thinking they were going to steal his boots or something. But they only gave him water and a place to sleep in their camping spot in the gas station, which could only be entered through a shattered window. In return he told them about the Massacre of Zone 5.

 

Leaving out a few details about the Phoenix Witch and his return to life.

 

“Why the fuck would anyone steal bodies?” Patrick clenched his fist, “Why would people steal my families bodies?!”

 

“There are people out there that think bodies hold a connection to the desert, spiritual and religious connections to gods older than your Destroya.” Billie said. “Maybe someone who believes in those sorts of legends heard about the massacre, and believed he could use it for his own benefit.”

 

“What legends?” Patrick asked. “Who would believe anything like that?”

 

Billie sighed and crushed the can of Pup under his palm. “During the Helium Wars, there were rumors about a mercenary that could only be hired by Killjoys, he would find you and make a price for his services. Hundreds of BLi camps and stations were decimated because of him. My troupe never heard from him, maybe because he thought we didn’t need help or what, I don’t even know if he really existed. Apparently, the story goes he fell in with a group of rebels from where Zone 6 was going to be, and here’s where it gets blurry, because people throw in that he fell in love with a priestess or had a few kids or even became the group's leader. But common thing was that he got close with this group, stopped doing mercenary stuff, the works. Then it goes on like he was asked for one more job, take down a huge BLi compound or something I don’t know, so he went to scout it out. Then he comes back and realizes it was a setup, because while he was gone, this whole big group was just _gone_ , wiped out, not even a stray dog was kept alive. BLi apparently took revenge on the sucker and all the damage he had caused.” Billie paused, letting Patrick register everything he had told him.

 

“Then what happened?” Patrick asked.

 

“The story goes a bit polka-dotty, so, what some people think is that he hauled all the bodies to the compound he spied on used them to burn it to the ground, but other people with less mental stability think he used the burning bodies to summon a demon or some crap to completely decimate a whole legion of BLi soldiers and compounds. I just think some group somewhere didn’t want to be traced so they came up with some clusterfuck of a story for people to believe and people used it as a way to justify being hyped on radiation and kill a bunch of innocent Battery City civilians.”

 

“What did they say happened to the guy?”

 

“Maybe he killed himself or maybe BLi did that for him, but before he died he said that people will always remember his name as a testament to BL/ind’s failure and other junk.”

 

Patrick heard the rest of the guys laughing in the distance, Tre must have lost again. “What was his name?”

 

“A lot of different people say a lot of different things, but the most consistent name…” Billie played with the ring around his left index finger. “They say the name he went by was Mr. Brightside.”

 

“So the people who stole my family’s bodies think they can summon a _demon_ by burning them.”

 

“The circumstances are pretty similar.” Billie murmured.

 

Patrick stood, straightening his mask back over his eyes, “Where did Mike say he saw the guy in black?”

 

“You wanna go after him?”

 

“Maybe it’s someone who made it out of the Massacre, I have to find out what he knows about my family.”

 

“Mike said he left when he stopped into the Pony Express building, but Patrick,” Billie grabbed Patrick’s wrist, standing. “Go tomorrow, you can’t get your hopes up so late in the day.”

 

“I can’t just fucking let this sit, Billie!” Patrick saw red and his eyes burned, Billie took a step back. “Some fucker out there _stole_ my family’s bodies! Because of some fucking lie!”

 

“If you leave now, it’ll be dark by the time you find the guy, Patrick.” Billie insisted. “Nothing turns out okay in the dark, you know that. People don’t come back in the dark.”

 

“It doesn’t matter, this isn’t the Helium Wars, Billie!”

 

“Then why are you acting like it is?” Patrick and Billie swung around, surprised. Kurt stood at the edge of the roof, empty eyed and fists clenched tight.

 

Mike came up the ladder after him.  “We heard yelling,” He explained.

 

“You’re not the only one whose family is dead Patrick,” Kurt stalked forward. “Do you think I didn’t want to kill every BLi agent I saw? Because that’s what I did, and that’s why we lost. That’s why everyone lost.” He grabbed Patrick by the shoulders and Patrick stared into the dark pits that were Kurts eyes. “We didn’t think, we didn’t plan, and that’s why everyone is dead.”

 

“Kurt, stop.” Mike placed a hand on his shoulder, Billie looked on with wide eyes.

 

“You’re a fool Doctor Benzedrine.” Kurt spit. “You’ll die a fool if you keep thinking you’re above everyone else.” He stormed away, jumping from the roof, leaving Patrick shaking.

 

* * *

 

 

The first night he had slept in the The Dead Pegasus, he had been kept awake by Tre’s constant snoring and Kurt’s perpetual talking in his sleep, along with the couple of other men Patrick hadn’t gotten to know were constantly making noise.

 

Now, it seemed that all those noises made it easier to sleep, even when his nerves were kicked up to a thousand, and his sleeping bag seemed to squeeze him. They begged him to stay.

 

He charged his blaster and listened to Kurt make a hostage negotiation in his sleep. He drifted to sleep a little after Billie came down from the roof and dreamed the Phoenix Witch had come again.

 

He woke when just as the sun began to rise and gathered his things, careful not to disturb any of the men still sleeping.

 

“Leaving already, Doc?” Tre propped himself up on his elbows, blurry from sleep.

 

“Tre… you weren’t supposed to know-”

 

“I saw you last night, I know the look of someone about to go.”

 

“Billie told us when you went to take a piss.” Mike mumbled from another corner of the room.

 

“Oh you just have to ruin everything don’t you?” Tre sat up and threw a lumpy pillow at him, and the other men started to stir.

 

Mike knocked the pillow out of the air, “What did I do now?”

 

“I’m trying to be all mysterious and heartfelt-”

 

“Since when have you ever been _heartfelt?”_ Billie laughed from his space under a table. The rest of the men finally woke, grumbling about it being too early. Kurt mumbled, half asleep:

 

“Did I miss him? Is he gone?”

 

“I’m still here Kurt.” Patrick waved a little, staring at Kurt’s now calm eyes. “I was trying to go before you all woke up.”

 

“Fuck did you want to do that for?” Mike stood, stretched, then made his way over to Patrick.

 

“I-” Patrick could feel blood rush to his face, “I didn’t want to have to say goodbye.” Some of the men swooned loudly and Mike hugged him tightly.

 

“I’ll never forget you little man, you and your cute little revenge filled cheeks.”

 

Patrick was crushed under his tight embrace. “Thanksh Mike.” He pushed away. “Thank you guys, for everything you’ve done for me.”

 

“Aw, we’re just a bunch of geezers living at a gas station!” Tre smiled.

 

“I’m serious, I would’ve died or gotten myself killed without you.” Patrick wrung his hands. “Thank you Mike, Tre, Kurt, Dave, Krist,” He turned to Billie who sat on the table. “Thank you, Billie.”

 

“Don’t get yourself killed, then you can thank me.”

 

They watched him leave towards the market, handing him a bottle of water and his now charged ray gun. He slipped on his mask and he thinks he saw Tre crying a little. He felt a million miles away, even though the market was only nine miles from the Dead Pegasus. “See you later, Motorbaby!” Kurt shouted from the rooftop.

 

When he had walked far enough away, Patrick cut his hand on a rock and let his blood mingle with the sand. He thanked Destroya for his friends.

 

The sun had risen high higher in the sky when he came to the marketplace, it was a lot less busy, because rebels had a thing about not waking up early. Patrick pulled his mask around his eyes as he entered.

 

The Pony Express building was painted an ugly shade of pink and lined with gold poppies, it seemed to glow in the sunlight and Patrick had to squint to look at it.

 

Mailboxes were stacked on top of one another on one wall and labeled with numbers while one just said: _SHITHOLE._

 

A girl on a skateboard whizzed past Patrick as he opened the door, holding a hastily wrapped package and heading down the road. He stepped inside and was immediately assaulted with questions by a man with a clipboard.

 

“Are you sending a package or receiving? If receiving, what is your mail number? If sending we need an exact delivery time for our betting pool and a payment of fifteen carbons-”

 

“I’m not mailing anything, I need information-”

 

“Information will cost you your pants or twenty carbons, of course that depends on what _kind_ of info-”

 

“You’re getting a _little_ abrasive there Static Man,” A man,  pushed ‘Static Man’ away. “Go deliver if you’re getting antsy.” Static Man huffed, then stormed away. The man looked Patrick over and bit his lip.

 

“The name’s Show Pony, how may I,”Show Pony pointed at himself, “Help _you_ , Dust Angel?”

 

“I heard a guy stopped by here, asking about Zone 5, I need to know if he asked anything else and what you told him.”

 

The teasing smile disappeared from Show Pony’s face, “Well then, _sweetheart_ , if you want information, it’s twenty carbons, or maybe your pants?” Show Pony tried smiling again and Patrick dug in his pockets for the carbons, only coming up with a measly two. Show Pony sighed heavily and said: “Fine, for you honey? No charge, you’re just too cute!” He turned toward a curly haired man sorting through the various mailboxes. “Hey Crab! Can you help this guy out?”

 

The man turned and nodded, “Sure.” Show Pony left in a hurry, his cheeks ruby red, and the man with curly hair smirked as he left. He stuck out his hand for Patrick to shake. “Name’s Horseshoe Crab, what can I help you with?”

 

Patrick took his hand, “Doctor Benzedrine, I’m looking for a guy that stopped in here a few days ago, asking about Zone 5.” Horseshoe Crab thought for a second.

 

“A lot of people have been asking about Zone 5, the Massacre was the biggest thing to happen in a long time, and now that Daylight Drug is gone, no one knows how to get drugs.”

 

Patrick felt a stab of guilt. “I’m looking for someone who might have asked about the people living there, if anyone was moving bodies-”

 

“Bodies?” Horseshoe Crab interrupted, “You’re not one of those Brightside creeps, are you?”

 

“Brightside?” said Patrick.

 

“I need you to get out, I don’t want you anywhere near this place if-”

 

“No Crab, I’m not I swear! I-” Patrick glanced around the room, then pulled Crab to the side. “I’m from the town in Zone 5, I heard someone was looking for bodies and came here, that’s why I’m here.”

 

“You’re not fucking with me?” Horseshoe asked, Patrick nodded. “Alright, some guy calling himself Sixx stormed in real angry and threatened Show Pony if he was keeping anything back and asked about bodies being stolen up in Zone 5.”

 

“Sixx?” Patrick could barely believe it.

 

“Do you know him?”

 

“Yeah, he’s a good guy, he-” Patrick steadied himself. “He’s a bit more famous up in Zones 4 and 5, but- Oh thank Destroya, he’s alive.” Patrick pushed his hair from his face, sighing in relief.

 

“Okay, if you say so but he almost broke Static Man’s arm.” Horseshoe Crab pointed his thumb toward the jittery man from earlier. “So, anyway, this guy comes in and Show Pony, being the usual wimp he is gives him the info free of charge, and he storms out.”

 

“What did Show Pony tell him?”

 

“Well, a couple of days ago, a guy came in with crazy eyes like a Wave Head and asked if he would deliver a few things to Zone 2. So Show Pony follows him out back and _immediately_ loses it. Turns out it was few bodies he had sold to a buddy up there, and even offered to sell a few to Show Pony, said something about how a Mr. Brightside would bless him if he took them.”

 

“What did Pony do?”

 

“Kicked the fucker in the head, of course! With his skates on even, to make sure it hurt.” Horseshoe rubbed the back of his head as if he was speaking from experience. “So we all watch this guy cart off these bodies in some rusty wheelbarrow which was definitely not gross at all, and last we heard he was taking them to Tommy’s, grumbling about better service between one businessman to another.”

 

“No,” Patrick scorned, “Not fucking Tommy Chow Mein.” He stormed out of the Pony Express, Horseshoe hot on his heels. “I’ll pay you later, when I get the carbons, okay? But thank you.”

 

“No, it’s not about that, you think you can take on some crazy ass cult leader alone? Who _are you man?_ ” Horseshoe tried to grab at his arm and Patrick pushed him off.

 

“I already told you, I’m Doctor Benzedrine, please just go back to the Pony Express, thank you for your help, but this isn’t your fight.”

 

“I can’t just watch some asshole mess with the dead and let him get away with it, and I can’t watch some other asshole like yourself go off to take him on alone, what if it’s not just one guy? What if it’s twelve? Even with this Sixx guy backing you up, who knows what will happen? Let me help you.”

 

Patrick stared at Horseshoe, “I just met you, why do you care so much? You already have a job to do,” He waved his hand back at the Pony Express, “Why would you just leave, why put yourself in the line of fire?”

 

For the first time since they had met, Horseshoe Crab had nothing to say, his mass of curly hair fluttered in the wind. Patrick started back to Chow Mein’s and Horseshoe grabbed his wrist. “If I tell you this, you have to bring me along or I’m following you.” Patrick stopped and turned.

 

“I grew up in Battery City, my dad raised me in the upper class part of the city, and when I turned fifteen he took me to the Lobby, basically the slums, and I met my mom,” Horseshoe looked around at the few people beginning to congregate into the market. “She was a Zombie, addicted to those pills Better Living hands out, my dad thought she was gone, but let me meet her anyways. I kept going to see her, to see if I could help and one day she followed me home when I wasn’t looking.” The market started to fill and Patrick pulled Horseshoe along so they wouldn’t be heard.

 

“She followed me home and shot and killed my dad during dinner, spouting off some crap about Mr. Brightside, and how he would free us all.” Horseshoe shivered from the memory and Patrick could sympathize, he saw Ben Barlow’s home crumbling around him whenever he shut his eyes. “She took his body and knocked me out with her blaster, next thing, I’m waking up in a truck in Zone 4 surrounded by bodies.”

 

“How did you get away?” Patrick asked, they were behind a couple of stalls, four doors down from Tommy’s.

 

“I don’t know, I just… left.” Horseshoe took a shaky breath. “No one was around, not even my mom.” Horseshoe looked up at Patrick. “I’ve wanted revenge for a long time Benzedrine, you can’t leave me out of this.”

 

* * *

 

 

Patrick bursts into Tommy Chow Mein’s, slamming the door open and slamming his hands onto the counter, making Tommy snort awake from his nap, his feet flew from the desk in surprise. “Whuh?” His voice was thick from sleep.

 

“A couple of days ago a man came to you and offered you dead bodies from Zone 5 to buy.” Patrick didn’t wait for Tommy to process the situation.

 

“Zone 5?” Tommy rubbed his eyes.

 

“Then another man came, he might’ve called himself Sixx, asking about the same thing, I need to know what you told him.”

 

“Zone 5, huh?” Tommy rested his head on his hands. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere.”

 

“That doesn’t matter,” Horseshoe interrupted “You have information we need.”

 

“Yes I know, Mr. Brightside, dead bodies, all that static, if it makes you feel any better I didn’t take his offer,” Tommy smirked, “Dead bodies aren’t really the best money makers, but what really surprises me is you, _Doctor Benzedrine_.” He turned to Horseshoe, “How does it feel to be in the presence of such a star? Or didn’t he tell you?”

 

“Tommy--” Patrick could feel a burning in the pit of his stomach.

 

“I thought you had been ghosted, like Dr. D had said, I thought that the infamous _Daylight Drug_ , was dead.”

 

Horseshoe’s eyes widened and Patrick pounded his fists on the table, seeing red, _“Daylight Drug is dead! He died with his family!”_ Tommy took a step back, and Patrick was surprised with himself, his voice had been low and rasping, ringing around the room just as it had been when he had first spoken with Dr. Death-Defying all those days ago. Tommy smiled again.

 

“The man you’re looking for went to Zone 2, there’s an old warehouse just west of the main road, but you could find your man Sixx in an old motel on the side of the of the road. It was one of those places that let you stay in individual houses.” He sat down, putting his feet up and placing a copy of Murder Magazine over his eyes. Patrick stormed out of the shop just as Tommy said: “Good Luck.”

 

Patrick kept walking into the desert, wringing his hands, his breathing heavy and afraid.

 

“Benzedrine!” Horseshoe Crab ran after him, “Benzedrine! Stop!” He grabbed his wrist and Patrick reeled backward, landing on his back on the sand, he sat up. Horseshoe kneeled in front of him. “What… Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“I already said, Daylight Drug is dead.”

 

“But how could you just leave that out? That you’re the man himself?”

 

“I’m not any man!” Patrick spat, “People are _dead_ , because of me! My _family_ is dead, because of me!”

 

“A lot of people are still alive because of what you did too.” Horseshoe Crab stuck his hand out once again for Patrick to take, “Joseph Trohman.”

 

“What?” Patrick stared at the hand.

 

“I just learned who you really are, it’s only fair if I return the favor, my name is Joseph Trohman, but you can call me Joe.”

 

Patrick took his hand, and Joe pulled him to his feet, “Patrick, and I think my mom had the last name Stump when she still lived in the city.”

 

“Nice to meet you Patrick Stump.”

 

“Nice to meet you Joe Trohman,” Patrick couldn’t help but smile, Joe laughed, but his face went blank again.

 

“What happened back there?” His eyes were concerned, Patrick frowned.

 

“I don’t know, something’s been going on with me that I can’t figure out.”

 

“I’ll help you out,” Joe offered, and directed him back towards the market, “But there’s other dust we have to settle first.” Patrick nodded in agreement. “I can pick us up a few motorcycles back at the Pony Express, and I have to grab my mask, I almost forgot about it.”

 

While they stopped back, the market had grown busier, and its patrons welcomed a dusty BLi truck that trundled along the gravel of the Getaway Mile. Horseshoe Crab wheeled the bikes around and told him that they must be fresh from Battery City, they’ll be a bit skittish for awhile.

 

Patrick made eye contact with the black haired boy in the passenger seat, who flashed a two fingered salute his way before turning to say something to the driver. His gaze lingered until Horseshoe pushed up the kickstand and motioned Patrick to do the same.

 

* * *

 

 

They hopped zones at midday and stopped to have a can of Power Pup, Horseshoe Crab told him funny things that happened on his deliveries for Pony Express to make Patrick laugh. But there was always a feeling of dark clouds hovering just past the horizon, literally and figuratively. Crab pointed them out while they were driving past a fading pink sign advertising the Vices and Virtues Motel.

 

They could see the building in the distance and Patrick made them get off their bikes to not draw attention to themselves. “It’s been raining a lot more than usual lately,” Horseshoe huffed, leaning on his bike. “Last week was like a fucking monsoon.” Patrick nodded in agreement.

 

They could see more of the motel as they drew closer, skeletons of houses clawed upward from the sand, making Patrick shiver with bad memories and fear. The more whole buildings stood alone, framed by the hot sand and deep blue sky. They maneuvered past an empty swimming pool, filled with sand and scrap metal, Patrick pointed to the farthest house, where a lone black motorcycle was propped next to the door. Horseshoe nodded and pulled his red and white mask over his eyes. Patrick did the same.

 

The bikes were left on the ground as they crept toward the house. Peaking in the windows did nothing, as thick curtains blocked their view. Patrick pointed at the front door and then indicated he would try the back, and crept past the windows to the back door.

 

Before he could even turn the handle, the hair on the back of his neck raised with a familiar feeling on the back of his head. One that made his pulse raise and lightning flash behind his eyes.

 

Sixx pushed the barrel of his ray-gun into his head, “Call your friend, hands up.” His voice rough and angry.

 

“Sixx-” Patrick tried to explain, his hands shot to the top of his head.

 

“Call your friend.” Sixx hissed.

 

“Sixx.. it’s me-” Sixx pressed the ray-gun harder into his head. “Horseshoe! Hey Horseshoe, can you help me out back here?”

 

“Yeah, just a second, the front door is locked, maybe this guy’s away-” Horseshoe came around the corner and his hands immediately copied Patrick’s. “I see what you mean by needing help.”

 

“Shut up or I shoot your friend,” Sixx growled, Horseshoe gulped, “Why are you following me?”

 

“We’re looking for the same thing,” said Patrick, “Sixx, please, calm down! It’s me, Patrick-” Sixx pushed him against the back door, which rocked on its hinges, the height difference between them meant Patrick was on his toes as Sixx stared down at him. Horseshoe took a step forward and Sixx turned the gun on him, still keeping Patrick braced against the door.

 

“Is this your idea of a sick joke? Or is BLi trying to trick me? Daylight Drug is dead, you should know that.”

 

“You know, I thought you were dead too,” Patrick inched his hand towards his mask, “Dr. Death-Defying wasn’t even sure.” He pushed his mask onto his forehead, and Sixx could only stare for a minute. Patrick was suddenly afraid he wouldn’t recognize him.

 

Sixx dropped the ray-gun and wrapped his arms around Patrick as tightly as he could, making Patrick’s feet dangle above the ground. He couldn’t breath until Sixx set him down again, smiling like an idiot. “It’s not possible, I saw you-” His eyes grew red, “You fell… I watched it happen and-”

 

“I’m alive Sixx, I’m here.”

 

Sixx waved his hand, “No, just call me Andy… I’m sorry I pushed you against the wall,” He turned to Horseshoe, “I’m sorry I held a gun on you.”

 

“It’s fine.” Horseshoe pursed his lips.

 

“Andy, this is Horseshoe Crab, he worked at the Pony Express.” Patrick introduced them.

 

“Well come in, please!” Andy pulled a key from his tight black pants and unlocked the door. Horseshoe pointed back toward the swimming pool.

 

“I’ll go bring the bikes around.”

 

“Thanks Crab.” said Patrick. Andy pulled him into the house, pushing him down onto a chair in front of a half decaying dining table, setting his blaster onto the table. Patrick did the same with his own, unclipping the holster from his pants.

 

“I watched you die Patrick.” The happiness had disappeared from his sharp features. “I watched as that Scarecrow put a blaster to your face and pull the trigger.”

 

“You’re not going crazy, Andy,” Andy looked like he doubted it. “It… It was the Phoenix Witch, Andy, she came to me after I died and brought me back, you’re the only one I’ve told.” Andy rubbed his eyes like he was going to cry.

 

“I went back and I couldn’t find your body, I thought Better Living had taken it, so I buried your mother…”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I kept seeing everyone in my dreams, still above ground, being eaten by vultures, so I went back…” He stared at his hands, which were covered with bike gloves and rings. “Everyone was gone.”

 

“That’s why I’m here, remember those guys at the Dead Pegasus? I was staying with them when you asked about Zone 5, they told me about how the bodies were stolen.”

 

“Destroya…” Andy whispered. Patrick could hear Horseshoe leaning the bikes against the wall outside. “I’m so glad you’re here… I just… I can’t do this alone, Patrick.”

 

“Well that’s why we’re here!” Horseshoe sat down next to Patrick, “We’re here for family.”

 

“May Destroya keep us on her mind.” Andy murmured.

 

He pulled a small knife from his jacket and opened his hand for the desert. Patrick followed and Joe held his hand out without hesitating.

 

Their blood soaked into the desert and a heavy wind blowed through, chilling them all to the bone.

 

* * *

 

 

They took off after dark, letting the moon light their way. Sixx supplied Horseshoe with another ray-gun he had stolen from a Drac and shared some old clothes he had found in the closet, supplying Patrick with a new shoelace and a short brown trench coat that kept him pleasantly warm.

 

Before the drive, Sixx told him his plan: “Depending on how many people are there, and the group usually moves in packs of eight, we go through either the front of the warehouse for surprise or three side windows, if they’re asleep, we can easily slip in and get them then.”

 

“And if they’re not?” Horseshoe checked the charge in his gun.

 

“We go in through the side and take them out without guns, discreetly.”

 

Sixx led the way to the warehouse, and before they even saw it, they could smell it.

 

Rotting flesh and burning hair.

 

It made Patrick’s eyes water.

 

They hopped off their bikes and pushed them the rest away, dropping them to the ground in front of the house. Horseshoe pushed a thin black scarf over his nose and mouth. Dark clouds pushed over the moon and an orange light flickered from inside the warehouse.

 

Sixx pulled his mask over his eyes and Patrick followed, along with Horseshoe. He pointed to the right of the building and unholstered his ray-gun. Patrick nodded.

 

The first man went down easy, he stood quiet, in front of the middle window. Sixx wrapped his arm around his neck and mouth and pulled him outside. He struggled, wide eyed, until Sixx knocked him out stomping on his head, breaking his nose in the process.

 

They all went in each of the three windows, coming to stand on the ground level, surrounded by body bags. The BLi logo smiled at each of them, laughing came from the middle of the room.

 

They wouldn’t be able to do this by stealth.

 

Sixx pointed at himself then past the body bags, then at Horseshoe and Patrick. He would go first on the count of three then they would follow. Patrick shook his head, he would go first. But Sixx was already counting down.

 

3.

 

“No!” Patrick whisper yelled.

 

2.

 

“I’m going!”

 

1.

 

“Stop!” This time he yelled, as Sixx burst from behind the body bags, shooting one man in the back. The man fell forward onto the fire the others had set up, the others hooted and hollered in excitement, grabbing their knives and ray-guns.

 

A tall man with a gap toothed smile pushed an older woman behind him, “Momma, I want you to go to the back room while we cook up some dinner.” His voice had a southern lilt to it, and Patrick knew immediately he was in charge.

 

He took aim with his gun, and shot down a woman who had launched herself at him, laughing hysterically. Thunder boomed overhead.

 

This time, he wouldn’t be afraid.

 

Rain hit the metal roof of the warehouse and the sound of it filled the room, making Patrick’s ears hurt. It made him angry.

 

Angry that he had let his family die. Angry that these people had thought that their bodies was an honorable thing to do.

 

The tall man’s southern voice drifted throughout, smiling and happy. “It isn’t too late darlings, I forgive you, even now!” Horseshoe tackled a burly man who smiled like a clown, his eyes full of fire, screaming for his mother. Sixx was locked in a dirty fistfight with two women who looked exactly alike, his ray-gun on the floor a foot away. Patrick shot one of them in the knee to even the fight.

 

The southern man hopped from one pile of bodies to another, humming an ugly tune that echoed through the warehouse and rang through Patrick’s ears, shaking his brain like a bell. “See the light children! I am him! Mr. Brightside has been reborn through me, and I can lead you all to salvation! Freedom from Better Living Industries! Freedom from those who don’t believe!”

 

Rain pelted the warehouse and thunder boomed, a hot feeling Patrick had only felt twice before burned within him. He shot at the man who dared call himself salvation, and he danced around his shots laughing like a child.

 

A man with only three teeth in his mouth tackled Patrick and he growled like an animal, the burning in his chest turned into fire and his fists were smoke, beating the man unconscious. Lightning crashed overhead and his eyes burned.

 

Thunder crashed and he roared with it, clawing at another man, twice the size of himself, bloody noses and bleeding ears, it covers his hands in red.

 

Someone yells _“Benzedrine!”_ and then the Southern man is gripping him tight, whistling a tune that made his head shake and his breath heavy.

 

“Aren’t you the sweetest thing?” The Southern Man smiles sweet and Dr. Benzedrine roars in his face, making everything still.

 

The Southern Man is strong for a man who could slip under the cracks of a door, and he holds Benzedrine tight. “I can give you hope child.” He says, running a hand down Benzedrine’s bloody face.

 

Lightning flashes and Benzedrine’s eyes burn. The Southern Man starts to hum again, then seizes, Horseshoe Crab’s eyes are wide as he grips his ray gun tight in front of him, his knuckles are white and suddenly he is Patrick again.

 

“Interesting…” The Southern Man slides to the floor, clutching his side, blood pooled around him.

 

Patrick…” Sixx stared at him, and Patrick gazed at the blood on his hands.

 

“I…” He struggled for words. The burning in his chest flickered and died. “I don’t-”

 

“You killed my son! My child!” The woman the Southern Man had shooed to the backroom reappeared, clutching an old Pre-Helium Wars gun that was almost too large for her to hold. “You killed my baby! How could you?!” Yet the Southern Man continued to writhe in his own blood. She cocked the gun.

 

“We have to get out of here.” Sixx took a few hasty steps backwards, scooping up his ray-gun in the process. Patrick holstered his own started to run towards the large front doors of the warehouse and Horseshoe followed. The woman followed, shooting wildly into the air around them, they could only duck for cover.

 

Their bikes sat docile in the sand, Sixx quickly gunned his but Patrick barely had time to pick his up before bullets from the woman’s gun embedded themselves in the engine, it was the same with Horseshoe’s bike.

 

  
“You guys go! Run! I’ll find you later!” Sixx pointed into the desert and didn’t wait for them to respond, he gunned his bike straight at the woman, who screamed like a banshee. Horseshoe grabbed his wrist and they ran over the sand dunes, sprinting for what seemed miles.

 

“There!” Horseshoe gasped, pointing ahead at a dusty white truck, slowly making it’s way through the sand. They caught up to it, breathing heavily as Horseshoe tried to clumsily open the the latch. They leapt inside when he succeeded, and Patrick pulled the door down after them, plunging them both into darkness.

 

They sat in silence, and Patrick finally realized how truly tired he was, not just from the run, but on the inside. His own soul ached with exhaustion.

 

He remembers laying down, and his world went dark.   

 

_“My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.”_

_―_ _L.M. Montgomery_ _,_ _Anne of Green Gables_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a bunch of old Punk rockers hanging out at a gas station amiright? *Smiles but is actually screaming inside*
> 
> AND NOW.... INTRODUCING: CYANIDE SCREAM'S GUIDE TO THE ZONES!  
> with this handy dandy guide to the zones you'll be a famous Desert Queen in no time!
> 
> People to know (Character Guide):
> 
> Zone 5 Killjoys  
> Dr. Benzedrine- Patrick Stump (formerly Daylight Drug) band: Fall Out Boy  
> Sixx- Andy Beirsack- band: Black Veil Brides  
> Secret Lover- Hailey Williams-band: Paramore  
> Crash- Jeremy Davis-band: Paramore  
> Lightning- Taylor York- band: Paramore  
> Horseshoe Crab- Joe Trohman- band: Fall Out Boy  
> The Shithole Killjoys  
> Young Vein- Ryan Ross- band: Panic! at the Disco  
> Mona Lisa- Spencer Smith- band: Panic! at the Disco  
> The Green Man- Jon Walker- band: Panic! at the Disco  
> Danger Disco- Brent Wilson (now deceased) band: Panic! at the Disco  
> Brobeck- Dallon Weekes- band: Panic! at the Dico  
> Baby Snake- Kenneth Harris- band: Panic! at the Disco
> 
> MORE NAMES TO COME (please tell me if I forgot anyone)
> 
> PLEASE READ: From June 20th to July 16th updates will be extremely staggered because I will be in a place with out internet *screams* however I will be writing the whole time and mail the chapters to a friend of mine who will hopefully be able to update for me, but it will be quite slow! If you have any questions about this just ask! Until those dates I will continue to be consistent!


	10. Gospel

 

_“Panic and terror aren't the only kinds of fear. There are deeper kinds, more terrible kinds. Apprehension and heavy, heavy dread.”_

_―_ _Veronica Roth_ _,_ _The Traitor_

 

The sun became his only god.

 

He was filled with pictures of Her as it shone down down upon him.

 

Her her her.

 

If the sun was his god, she was his manna, his salvation in the desert.

 

She came to him through the radiation, through the memories he had of her, sometimes he could feel her touch.

 

It burned his fragile skin and filled his lungs with smoke.

 

She whispered in his ear, soft words he could fall asleep to, and her hair tickled his cheek.

 

_“Aren’t you angry?”_

 

Brendon gasped awake.

 

Nighttime.

 

He was leaning against a rusty sign advertising the construction ahead.

 

The moon became his enemy, it tore him away from her. He needs her back.

 

He needs her _he needs her_ **_HE NEEDS HER._**

 

Sometimes the sun could carry him through the night, it’s radiation filling him to the brim and lasting until the next day.

 

And other times it would leave him gasping for more, so vivid and plunged into reality he would cry for it to be over. The electricity burns on his hands and arms reminded him of _its_ dead eyes and empty smile.

 

He couldn’t bare to say her name.

 

Once he had wandered into a whole group of those like him.

 

Those who worshipped the sun.

 

An old man named Dee Dee taught him how to live off the rays. The sun was not only his god, but his food, and his water.

 

He would still drink, he would have to, but it killed the radiation within him, leaving him empty and full of smoke.

 

He remembers a time in which the radiation took him through eight days straight. Eight days of bliss with her.

 

Dee Dee taught him how to follow the sun. How to move in the desert, and the best ways to receive the sun.

 

He would walk barefoot over the burning sand, and only a tank top and shorts covered him.

 

The stars above laughed at him, their light would never fill him like the sun’s. The nighttime made him aware of his faults.

 

His parched lips and peeling pink skin.

 

Who was he anymore?

 

Tears slid down his cheeks but he barely felt them. Her smile seemed to fade faster in the dark.

 

He woke up in the sand, curled into himself.

 

The sun was high in the sky and he despaired at his own bad luck. You can’t catch radiation so late in the day and she would be gone from him, her fire would be burnt out until the next day and he can’t see her face and he needs hersmileandhereyesandwhyhadshelefta _ndwhyhadshebeentaken?_

 

His skin is full of sand and he melts in under the hot sun like glass in an oven.

 

He walks for a long time, he is not sure how long.

 

He is luckier the next morning and he greets the sun with open arms, his thin fingers stretched to grasp the rays and she meets him with kind eyes. They walk together for miles until the radiation fills his every pore and he feels rough wood on the bottoms of his feet and he lies in the heat of the sun.

 

She smiles and her hands grasp his face and he forgets the smooth, sultry, _sickening_ voice from the city asking, _“What will I do with you now?”_

 

He is in bliss for two days until the cold water slides down his face and she fades into the waves of heat emanating from the desert.

 

He remembers once in his time with Dee Dee when someone had killed his radiation, staring down at him, his face angry, before turning to Dee Dee to do the same.

 

Dee Dee’s whole body had twisted with anger, he screamed at the top of his lungs for a man named Joey, his eyes bright like fire as he beat the man who had killed the rays inside of him close to death.

 

Brendon could only watch as she faded in front of him. Because of her, he had been whole. Because of her, he could only hear Dee Dee grunt as the man’s face became bloodier and bloodier with every punch.

 

Maybe that was when he had wandered off.

 

Now that same thing was happening again. But Brendon has no fight in him like Dee Dee had, and he can only feel her hands slide from his cheeks like water, leaving him cold and shivering in her once fiery wake.

 

The man with the water had been expecting a fight, which he illustrated with a green ray-gun pointed his way. Brendon only slides to his bare feet, apologizing under his breath.

 

The man watches him walk away with bated breath, as if Brendon would suddenly turn to fight. But he walks into the desert, salty tears mingling with the water on his peeling face.

 

He cannot fight anymore. He just wants her back.

 

Without realizing, he somehow ends up back there. This time he sits against the wall, directly facing the sun. She meets him, wearing her white dress and red lipstick and then she whispers in his ear: _“Little glass bird.”_

 

And then it is his mother, with her sick, pale face and glassy eyes, smiling her sick smile. The air is sick from her and Brendon can smell it, the whole desert is sick from her _. Her. His mother is in Her place and she knows_ because she nods and says: _“I’m sorry, my little bird.”_

 

He squirms under her gaze and he wants to leave why is she here w _hyisshehere_ WHYISSHEHERE?

 

 _“You are made of glass, little bird, maybe you will harden into steel,”_ She breaths heavy and her sickness poisons his radiation. “ _Or you will fly with glass wings and- an-_ Brendon Boyd Urie, so weak, a coward really, what will I do with you now?” The voice from the city makes him scream and he needs her back he needs her _backheneedsherback._

 

Then cold water pours down his face and it is a different man this time, taller, and his concerned face welcomes Brendon back to reality. “Sounds like a bad trip.” He says.

 

Brendon pushes himself up to stand and the man steps back, throwing up his arms in defence, but Brendon will not fight.

 

“Baby Snake told me about you,” The man says, “Are you okay? You can come inside if you want.”

 

Brendon steps down from what he realizes is a porch, he shakes his head no because, “I’m just glass.” He would break in their presence, shattering his way into their home and cutting their cheeks with his broken edges.

 

“Glass?” The man catches up to him and he finds himself just the slightest bit annoyed by the attention. He keeps walking, because sooner or later, he will be left alone. “I’m serious, come inside, I’m sorry for breaking your high.”

 

Brendon ignores him and soon he is alone, with only the sand and rocks and his god, the sun.

 

He is back three, or maybe seven days later. She leads him there, in her flowing white dress and cheerful laughter and he is enchanted.

 

He wakes up in a pink lawn chair, the man he could have guessed was Baby Snake, stood in front of him. “Look, Glass, or… whatever your name is,” He set down the bottle of water on the railing and rubbed his face, “Brobeck won’t stop talking about you and this is the third time you’ve stopped by, so will you just come in?” He gestured toward a rickety sliding screen door.

 

“I’m sorry,” Brendon slides out of the chair, “I won’t come back.”

 

“No, _ugh,_ ” Baby Snake shakes his head, “Look, just come inside, have some lunch, and then Brobeck might leave you alone I don’t know, he has this thing with _finding stuff_ , and he’s never, I don’t know, _found_ a Wave Head that was polite or something.” He blocks Brendon’s path into the desert and he really isn’t sure how to progress anymore.

 

Then he is sitting at a plastic folding table in a plastic, folding chair.

 

Inside.

 

The tall man who calls himself Brobeck sets and black and white can in front of him. The sun has filled him already, but he also knows Brobeck means for him to eat. He is not hungry.

 

“Oh sorry!” Brobeck leans to open the can, but Baby Snake stops him.

 

“You know they don’t eat.” Baby Snake sets the water bottle he had earlier in front of him instead. “Just let him drink.” Brobeck takes the can back, a little less excited. Brendon can only stare at the water bottle.

 

“So,” Brobeck folds his hands in front of him, Baby Snake rips the can open and eats it’s contents with a fork, Brendon can smell the processed meat. He crinkles his nose. “What’s your name?”

 

Brendon looks at him, the sun made his surroundings blurry, maybe if he went now he could see her again before nightfall. “I’ll just keep calling you Glass then.” Brobeck reaches for the bottle and unscrews the top for Brendon.

 

Not that he asked.

 

Brobeck leaned forward and Brendon blinks, “Why didn’t you fight like the other Wave Heads usually do? Is it because you’re newer or-”

 

“I don’t want to fight.” Brendon mumbles, he wraps his hand around the bottle, condensation making his fingers wet.

 

“He’s a man with principle.” Baby Snake talks into his food. Brendon thinks about taking a drink.

 

“I can show you around if you want,” Brobeck stands and gestures to area outside the kitchen, lit with dim lamps and cluttered with stuff Brobeck had just seemed to pick up from anywhere, tossing them into piles upon piles of junk.

 

Brendon brings the bottle to his lips.

 

In a moment of awareness he stood and let Brobeck lead him back into the place he called ‘The Shithole’, and Brobeck told him a story for what seemed like every trinket and bauble in the place. He drank the water Baby Snake had given him and for a moment his perpetually rapid pulse seemed to slow.

 

He was okay.

 

He told Brobeck his name was Brendon.

 

Brobeck introduced himself as Dallon, and Baby Snake, Kenny.

 

“I’ll keep calling you Glass though, like a Killjoy name.” Brobeck said, Brendon agreed.

 

He laughed at their jokes, it came out dry and raspy and he drank more water and he felt warm. Warm like he had been wrapped in a blanket and filled him with hot chocolate.

 

Then it was nighttime, he fell asleep on a mattress on the floor and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept like that.

 

He watched the sun rise when he woke.

 

The sun was still his god, and its rays brushed his cheeks and ran its fingers through his hair. He followed his god out of the sliding screen door and he knew Brobeck watched him go. Baby Snake called for him from the second floor.

 

He met her, leaning  against a sign for the Vices and Virtues Motel and she held his hand.

 

It wasn’t the same.

 

But radiation filled him and he didn’t notice anymore.

 

He met Dee Dee three days later in a shack in the middle of nowhere. His radio blared a sympathetic glam-rock song and Dee Dee’s friends swayed to the beat under the sun.

 

A man with ugly red skin named Tom said: “Try.” Dee Dee laughed his barking laugh and pushed Brendon the group. He didn’t fight it.

 

He swayed with them and She joined him, wrapping her thin arms around his neck.

 

He walks with Dee Dee’s group for a while, it sucked him dry just to be with them, with their red skin and parched lips. The sun still filled him with it’s rays and people came and left the group, sometimes joining and sometimes just wandering off, worshipping the sun in their own way.

 

Sometimes a man with ratty brown hair will try to leave.

 

He wakes up sporadically and tries to drink from his bag.

 

Dee Dee takes his bag, and Brendon learns Dee Dee stopped being a good person a long time ago.

 

The man finally runs away in the night and Brendon watches him go. “He doesn’t understand what the sun does for us.” Dee Dee slurs, he points at Brendon. “You stay away from him, stay away from Agent Cherri Cola.”

 

Brendon is too full of rays to understand.

 

He wanders away the next day, not completely aware of it.

 

She leads him through the desert, just talking, no words, but the sound makes him feel alive.

 

He doesn’t know how it happens, but he wakes up on the rough wood porch, sitting on the pink lawn chair. Baby Snake leans on the railing in front of him. Brendon sighs and Baby Snake turns, still leaning on the railing.

 

“You were gone a long time,” He takes a sip from a can of pop. “We were getting worried.”

 

“Why?” He rasps, why should anyone worry about him?

 

“You’re our friend.”

 

He stares at Baby Snake for a moment,

 

“Oh.” Brendon picks at the peeling skin on his hands, it stings like the electricity that had mangled them weeks before. “Maybe I should go.” Baby Snake doesn’t argue, he just hands him a pouch of water that had been hanging on the railing. Brendon stands and takes it.

 

“I’ll tell Brobeck you said hello.” Baby Snake says, and the screen door slides open.

 

“ _Or,_ ” Brobeck gives Baby Snake a hard stare.

 

“No, it’s okay…” Brendon steps off of the porch, “I’ll see later.”

 

Brobeck doesn’t walk with him like he had, and it fills Brendon with a feeling of emptiness and he has to ask himself what Baby Snake had meant.

 

Who is he anymore?

 

She does not greet him in the desert, so he goes looking for her.

 

Her smiling face is nowhere to be found.

 

He wakes up leaning on that same motel sign. Dee Dee stands with his back to him, pouring his water out onto the sand. “No…” Brendon croaks, and Dee Dee turns, his face red and angry.

 

“Who the fuck gave you this?” He asked, throwing the pouch at him, it hit his cheek.

 

“Nobody,” Brendon stared up at him, and he gave Brendon an empty smile.

 

“Was it those bitches at the Shithole?” He continued, “I know you go up there a lot.”

 

“No.” It came out as a whisper, and he struggled to stand, Dee Dee pushed him back down.

 

“I thought you understood Brendon,” Dee Dee picked at his fingernails, the sun was beginning to set, turning the sky the same color as his red, peeling skin. “I would get you water, the sun would give the rest, have I not been living up to _your_ expectations?”

 

“It’s not like that Dee Dee, I-”

 

“It’s not like what?” Dee Dee snapped. “The sun is your god Brendon, as it is mine, has it not been treating you fair? Has it not been giving you the special treatment you got in the city? I thought you understood what she gives to us, I thought you appreciated what it gives to us all!” His face, if it was possible, got even redder, veins popped in his forehead.

 

“Stop-”

 

“I have provided for you Brendon! I thought I was being a friend, and yet, _and yet,_ you go off and get some clean bitches to cry to about water!”

 

Brendon tries to push himself up to sit and Dee Dee pushes him back to the ground, kneeling over him and holding his neck against the sand, he spits in Brendon’s face. “You think being clean will solve all your problems, you _Fotze?”_ Brendon gasps for breath, clawing at the sand as Dee Dee squeezes his hands around his throat.

 

“Do you think that being clean will bring back that _bitch_ you’re always crying about?” Dee Dee growls, and his nails dig into the skin in the back of his neck. The edges of Brendon’s vision get fuzzy and he tries to scream, it only comes as a breathy squeak, he can hear yelling in the distance

 

Without warning, Dee Dee is pushed away and Agent Cherri Cola stands with a pink ray gun. Brendon rolls and hacks onto the sand. Dee Dee is slumped to the side, blood splattering his face.

 

“How did you-” Brendon coughs “How did you know?

“I’ve been following him from Zone 1, he upset a couple neutrals.” Cherri Cola holds out a hand for Brendon to take.

 

“You killed him.” Brendon breathes, staring at Dee Dee’s empty eyes.

 

“I’ve done it before,” and yet Cherri couldn’t take his eyes off the corpse. “He controlled me, when I was still an Wave Head,” He tore his eyes away to look at Brendon. “He controlled all of us. Not for carbons or any static like that, he just thought it was fun.”

 

Cherri turned and spit on the sand next to Dee Dee’s body.

 

“Listen....” He turned back.

 

“Glass,” Brendon doesn’t know why, but this is how he introduces himself.

 

“Listen, Glass,” Cherri pushes his pink mask down around his neck, “The sun may be a god, but it’s not one anyone should worship.”

 

Then he leaves, stepping over Dee Dee’s body with nothing but contempt, he tossed the discarded water pouch Brendon’s way. He picks it up from where it fell by his feet.

 

She meets him later, behind an abandoned gas station, her hair swirls around her face and she glows like an angel. She kisses him on the cheek and whispers in his ear:

 

_“Friends.”_

 

_“Every danger loses some of its terror once its causes are understood.”_

**_―_ ** _Konrad Lorenz_ _,_ _Civilized Man's Eight Deadly Sins_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured after about a hundred pages on google docs we should see Brendon again
> 
> Fotze- German for Cunt
> 
> REMINDER from June 20th to July 16th updates will be EXTREMELY STAGGERED but my friend who has yet to choose a nom de plume will post for me so apologize in advance for any errors during that time


	11. Heathens

 

 

_“There are many who don't wish to sleep for fear of nightmares. Sadly, there are many who don't wish to wake for the same fear.”_

_―_ _Richelle E. Goodrich_ _,_ _Dandelions: The Disappearance of Annabelle Fancher_

 

When Josh was younger, his father told him stories about the stars and planets. About galaxies far, far away with aliens, giant space slugs, smugglers, and heroes that fought with lasers and could move objects with their minds.

 

They would lay out on the unkempt grass of their backyard, his father telling him about the constellations; every planet and star, until his mother would yell at them to get back inside, it’s a school night for Christ’s sake!

 

Josh grew up dreaming of becoming an astronaut, flying amongst the stars to new, unexplored planets, and even of becoming the first to come into contact with extraterrestrial life.

 

It was too bad Battery City didn’t have any stars.

 

He had been a real sucker.

 

From the brochure, Battery City sounded like a wonderful place. _Come, live in the heart of Better Living Industries! With scenic residential areas and bullet fast commuter trains, you’ll be living at the forefront of the monochromatic era! Live under an ever blue sky in a city with an always buzzing nightlife and a like-minded, accepting young adult community!_

 

Clear blue skies meant clear night skies and Battery City was one of only three major cities _in the world_ to own a weather satellite. A Better Living product, it could shift weather patterns and fronts to (almost) _control_ the elements. Josh had poured over research papers for a week straight, trying to understand the science of it all.

 

All that research had blinded him to the truth. Battery City didn’t have stars anymore.

 

Smoke pollution from the manufacturing companies and factories had all but killed _hundreds_ of stars. Smog covered the sky above the city, making it impossible to see all but the brightest stars, especially in addition to the light pollution from the street lights and homes. The constellation Sagittarius hadn’t been seen for five years.

 

Josh had been so excited by the satellite, he had signed the lease for a downtown apartment and moved in within a week. He had taken a company-provided tour of the satellite control station before even seeing his apartment.

 

When he finally got to his apartment, he pushed his bed under the biggest window, along with his telescope, and waited.

 

He stared at the blank, black sky until the truth blindsided him at two in the morning.

 

He had been a real sucker.

 

He also couldn’t get a good night’s sleep.

 

Josh had been falling asleep under the stars since he was three and it almost seemed impossible to drift off without _something_ resembling the stars.

 

Now, his mornings were filled with blurred vision and terrible Better Living coffee.

 

At his electric bill’s behest, he took a job at one of the factories that had ruined the sky. He hated everything about the place from his uniform to his abusive boss, all the way to the steps outside the entrance.

 

His application to the satellite control station had been rejected, saying he had no experience.

 

Of course he had no _experience_ , the only job he had ever had was working the register at the local strip mall back home.

 

The factory he worked at was stationed underground, close to something called the Retinal Resort, which he had been told was a sort of rehab for rich people. It was his job to organize different scientific samples into the corresponding canister and pass them to his station partner who would then organize those canisters into either Type A or B groups.

 

His mentor has told him the samples would be sent to hospitals around the world providing replacement skin cells, helping with hundreds of medical procedures. This made Josh decide to hate his job less.

 

There was only one other upside.

 

Mark Hoppus.

 

Mark was his station partner. He was a bit old, though Josh didn’t know by how much. Whenever he asked, Mark would only respond with: “ _As dirt_ ,” then chuckle. He knew just how to make Josh laugh, and had a small stutter from their boss hitting him on the back of the head _several_ too many times.

 

He seemed to always be in trouble for something. Yet job security never seemed to become an issue.

 

“H-Hey, Josh,” Mark greeted, following him to the breakroom. “Star Man J-Josh, Joshua William Dun, my man.”

 

“How’s it going, Mark?” Josh asked with a smile.

 

“All good, now that I see your shining face!”

 

It was something they repeated everyday. Mark would ask about the control center, Josh would tell him about the satellite’s schedule, and Mark would joke that he was a weather wizard.

 

“My n-neighbors think I’m crazy,” Mark took a sip of coffee, grimaced, then poured the rest in the sink. “They see me with an umbrella on a perfect morning, then I get to watch them f-fumble with their k-keys on a rainy evening!”

 

If Josh was being honest with himself, Mark was more than likely a little crazy.

 

He was always telling Josh about the strange dreams he had or jokes that never made sense. He complained about coworkers that didn’t exist and sometimes he knew things about Josh, things that Josh had never told him before.

 

“Hey, listen,” Mark began one week. “You should walk home today.”

 

Josh flipped through a magazine, reading an ad for the newest edition of pornodroids. “Why’s that?”

 

“Just a feeling,” Mark blinked a few times, like he was going to have a seizure. “Something is going to happen.”

 

“That adds, like, a mile to my walk time,” Josh complained, but Mark wasn’t listening, he had sat down and started flipping through the magazine, anxious and shaking. “Are you okay, Mark? You look sick.”

 

“Here,” Mark slammed the magazine back down onto the table, opened to a page about the latest scientific endeavors of the Better Living Industries. “She told me l-last night, you _have_ to walk home.”

 

Josh picked up the magazine, saying “What is this about, Mark? Who is she?” Mark only pointed to the article and shook his head.

 

“ _Please_ j-just go the long way home.”

 

“If it will make you happy, Mark,” Josh was afraid disagreeing would rile him up even more.

 

A small buzzing sound indicated that their break time was over and Mark led the way back to their station, unsmiling and distant.

 

* * *

 

 

Mark watched Josh as he exited the building, as if he thought Josh would go back on his word. It made Josh’s stomach hurt from nerves. He turned toward the station, going past the Retinal Resort.

 

Josh wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He put them in his pockets but then his bag slipped from his shoulders. Walking past the control station, he put them on the back of his head.

 

His cheeks burned and he wiped his palms on his jeans.

 

There was the sound of barefeet on concrete behind him and suddenly he was falling face first on the ground, his palms hitting first.

 

Josh heard heavy breathing and anger rose in his chest, “Do you even watch where you’re going?” The other person rolled away and stood quickly, swaying. Josh pushed himself up to stand next to him. “ _Thanks for the help._ ”

 

The guy stumbled to the side, trying to step forward, “I’m - I’m sorry, I-” He fell forward and Josh jumped to catch him.

 

“Whoa, are you okay?”

 

“They have her, they have Jenna,” The boy stammered, pushing Josh away. “I have to get her back, I-”

 

“Dude, you are _dying_ , you have to slow down.”

 

The boy mumbled angrily, “I’m not-” and then passed out.

 

Josh braced the boy against his shoulders, glancing around the street to make sure no one had seen. If the kid was a Ritalin Rat, he could have been running from someone that had been harassing him.

 

“Come on, dude, I’ll take you back to my place.”

 

Josh thought about Mark and what he had said earlier.

 

It gave him a headache.

 

The streets were thankfully empty thanks to the bullet train and Josh was able to make it back to his apartment unscathed.

 

He dropped the kid onto his couch and pondered what he would do when the kid woke up. He turned on the TV to kill time but the only thing on was Fact News. Josh hated looking at _Andrew’s_ blank face so he turned it back off.

 

He paced around the apartment for awhile, listening to the boy’s breathing. He spied on his neighbors with his telescope but felt guilty and stopped, choosing to sit in silence in the big armchair he had bought a week ago.

 

Josh was close t nodding off until he saw the kid sit up. It startled Josh and he jumped in his seat.

 

“This is not my room.” The kid’s voice cracked, his eyes wide.

 

“Yeah, sorry,” Josh said as he stared. “You just ran into me and passed out, I didn’t know what to do…”

 

The kid wrung his shaking hands and turned to sit properly on the couch.

 

Josh leaned forward, holding out a hand for the kid to shake. “I’m Josh.” The kid stared at Josh’s fingers and after a moment of silence, he took them in his own hand.

 

“Tyler Joseph.”

 

“Oh, uh… Josh Dun.”

 

They separated and sat awkwardly for a moment until Tyler asked. “Where am I?”

 

“My apartment,” Josh answered quickly. “In Battery City, if that’s what you were asking.”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh.” Josh squeezed his knees together. “Are you hungry?”

 

“I don’t like oatmeal,” Tyler responded, almost on instinct.

 

“Well, I don’t have any oatmeal, um…” Josh wasn’t sure where he should look. “I have a bag of tortilla chips?”

 

Tyler shrugged, “I like salsa.”

 

“I might have salsa,” Josh said as he shrugged in response, then stood, fast, and walked to his kitchen. He breathed a sigh of relief as he grabbed the bag of chips and found the salsa, squinting at the best by date which was four weeks ago. He tossed it and heated up some nacho cheese instead, tapping his fingers on his thigh as he watched it spin in the microwave. He carried the chips and dip back into the living room, saying “So I didn’t have salsa, is cheese okay?” He found Tyler leaning over his telescope which had been stuffed into the corner.

 

“It’s fine.”

 

Josh set them on the coffee table and sat in the armchair, Tyler moving to sit back down on the couch. “Shouldn’t the telescope be by the window?”

 

Josh shrugged, “You can’t see any stars from Battery City.”

 

Tyler nodded and grabbed a chip.

 

Once again, they sat in silence.

 

Josh pointed at Tyler. “You have cheese on your face.”

 

“Oh,” Tyler gave a tiny laugh and wiped his cheek. “Did I get it?”

 

“No,” Josh laughed.

 

* * *

 

Josh set up his mattress by the couch and they both stayed up, staring at the ceiling. Tyler became less and less monosyllabic over time and apologized for running into Josh.

 

“It’s okay,” Josh moved to put his arm under his head as a pillow. “Who’s Jenna?”

 

Tyler was silent from where he was laying on the couch. Then he muttered, “A girl.”

 

Josh smiled and started to laugh but stopped when he saw Tyler’s blank face. “What kind of girl was she?”

 

“I don’t know,” Tyler said. “The kind you go back for.”

 

Josh hummed in agreement then asked, “Is she why you were running?”

 

“She helped me escape,” Tyler answered. “Then they just…took her.”

 

“Escape?”

 

“The Retinal Resort, they were holding me hostage, I think. I can barely remember anything.”

 

“Isn’t the resort just for rehab?”

 

“There’s no way,” Tyler sat up suddenly. “They did something to me.” He stared at his hands and Josh sat up to hear him better. “They did something to make me…” He paused, searching for the right words. “Not me.”

 

“How can they make you ‘not you’?” Josh asked and Tyler shook his head , turning to face Josh, his eyes wide.

 

“I don’t know but you have to help me,” Tyler leaned forward. “You have to help me get her back, Josh.”

 

Josh stared up at him, “You barely know me.”

 

“Please,” Tyler pleaded. “I need your help.”

 

* * *

 

Josh remembers Tyler shaking him awake, saying his alarm was going off from the other room. Josh turned it off and they both ate cereal on the couch, tiredly staring off into space.

 

He told Tyler to stay in his apartment until he got back from work and stepped out onto the street, feeling alone.

 

Josh had never felt alone before.

 

He resisted the urge to go back inside.

 

Mark didn’t speak until break time and he didn’t say hello. Instead, it was, “Did you read the article?”

 

“What? Oh,” Josh remembered the magazine from yesterday, before he met Tyler. “No, sorry.”

 

“Then I’ll show you,” Mark grabbed his hand, dragging him along. “You need to know what she is going to put you through.”

 

“Hey!” Josh tried to pull his hand away but Mark’s grip was like iron. “You can’t keep doing this, Mark! You need help!”

 

“It’s Her, Josh!” Mark kept his hold. “She gives me these dreams for you!”

 

“Her?” Josh asked again. He could tell from the emphasis in Mark’s voice that he worshipped the woman he was speaking of. “Who is that? Who is She? Mark!”

 

“Destroya!” Mark almost shouted. “Do you think I want these dreams, Josh? Do you think I want to see all this death and destruction? No! I want you to stay alive! So does Destroya! The desert Herself wants you alive, you and Tyler have horrible roles in her plan-”

 

“How do you know about Tyler?” Josh interrupted and Mark pulled him through an unmarked door, leading into an empty hallway.

 

“I know everything,” Mark said. “I know how you can find Jenna.”

 

Josh fell silent, letting Mark lead him down the hallway, then asked, “Why does the desert want me alive?” They had arrived at a door marked with Japanese characters.

 

“Because,” Mark pulled a keycard out of his pocket and swiped it past the lock, the door opening without resistance. “This is how Better Living will kill you.”

 

Josh stared at the sight in front of him.

 

Samples from his station and tubes of organs sat dormant on conveyor belts. He pointed at the larger clear containers he saw near the back, drawing the only conclusion possible. “Are those... people?”

 

“Clones,” Mark answered. “For something called the Scarecrow Program. As far as I know, they’ve only had one success.” Mark pulled the door closed and led Josh back to the break room. “I can help you get to Jenna but you have to know that this is your destiny.”

 

* * *

 

“This guy can help us find Jenna?” Tyler stared at Mark, his eyes blurry from his nap.

 

“I can point the way,” Mark said with a shrug. “But you need to find your own way to her.”

 

“I know my way through the Resort,” Tyler planted himself, his eyes set and serious. He turned to Josh as he said, “Are you sure that you want to help me?”

 

“I mean…” Josh tapped his fingers on his thigh. “I met you two days ago.” Tyler nodded. “But you’re my friend.”

 

* * *

 

Mark led them into the Lobby, the slums of Battery City and Josh felt like every pornodroid was staring at them. Tyler walked beside him, fingers pushed into the pockets of the jeans Josh had lent him.

 

They walked past an old electronics store with TVs in it’s window, turned to Fact News, reporting a large dust storm in Zones 5 and 6.

 

Mark went into an alleyway and then led them to a side door next to where a few men were leaning against the wall, smoking. One of them looked Josh up and down then winked. Josh gave him an awkward wave then followed Mark and Tyler.

 

“Hey, Vic,” Mark greeted, and a skinny boy waved from an old, ratty couch.

 

“Hey, Mark!” The boy, Vic, stood and shook Mark’s hand. “Kellin just got back, can I interest you in a Slam Chaser or two?”

 

“No, sorry,” Mark shook his head. “I’m here for the tunnels.”

 

Vic shrugged and then waved to the hall behind him, “You know what to do.”

 

Mark motioned for Tyler and Josh to follow and led them past a group of pornodroids who giggled and grabbed at their clothes.

 

They came into a room filled with holes and ladders. Mark led them to one in the corner of the room. “Vic and Kellin have a whole network of tunnels to smuggle things in and out of the city,” Mark explained.

 

“And this one will take us to Jenna?” Tyler asked.

 

“I told you, it would only point the way,” Mark climbed down and Tyler followed with Josh last.

 

They landed in dust. Mark lit a lantern that was hanging on the wall and took it with him, leading them into the dark.

 

They walked for what felt like hours until Mark stopped and turned to them. “I only said I would point the way,” His tear-filled eyes shone from the light of the lantern. “You have to do this on you own.”

 

“Of course,” Josh said and Mark pointed behind himself.

 

“You two should go first.” Behind him was a ladder and a metal hatch you might find on a ship.

 

“Okay.” Josh sprung forward and climbed the ladder, Tyler following close behind. He twisted the circular handle on the door and pushed it open. A bright light blinded both Josh and Tyler as they crawled out onto rough uneven ground. Mark followed and Josh rubbed his eyes.

 

Tyler was the first to recover and as he gazed about, a look of horror came over his face. “No,” he whispered.

 

The door slammed shut behind them, a click sounding, indicating it had locked behind them. “No!” Tyler yelled and Josh could finally see the sand that swirled around them.

 

“You son of a bitch!” Tyler yelled, crawling back to the door, trying to open it. The wind was too strong and Josh couldn’t stand; sand swirled around them, nearly blinding him.

 

“I’m sorry!” Mark yelled over the roaring wind, “This is the only way! You have to find your own way!” He stood and the sand created a cloud around him until Josh could barely see him.

 

“Mark?” Josh yelled.

 

“Remember what I told you, Josh!” Mark took a step backwards. “About the Scarecrow program! Kill it before it kills you!” Tyler kept banging on the door and then Mark was just gone, the sand engulfing him.

 

Josh crawled forward a few feet, keeping Tyler in his vision, “Mark! Mark! Come back!” Sand and dust whipped around him, stinging his face and making him squint.

 

Mark was gone, and in his place, a faded red and white sign:

 

**_WARNING: APPROACHING ZONE 6, PREPARE FOR INTOLERABLE LEVELS OF RADIATION_ **

  


_“Don't judge yourself by what others did to you.”_

_―_ _C. Kennedy_ _,_ _Omorphi_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Cyanide_Scream:  
> Oh, look it's Mark Hoppus, aaaand he's gone.
> 
> I really like this chapter a lot! Even though Josh and Tyler's meeting seems a bit rushed, I hope you'll forgive me for the long wait. Mail takes a day and a half to deliver and there's three more weeks until July 16th! If you have any questions, please leave a comment and I'll answer them. 
> 
> From the Editor (while Cyanide_Scream is gone):  
> If it seems a little different from usual, I went along and edited (to the best of my ability without the author to consult with) as I typed it up. Hope you enjoy it like I did and Cyanide_Scream will be back soon enough.


	12. Skin

 

_“Wear your heart on your skin in this life.”_

_―_ _Sylvia Plath_ _,_ _Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams: Short Stories, Prose and Diary Excerpts_

 

Pete wakes up with a headache. It reminds him of the first time he got blackout drunk, back when parties were interesting instead of a way to kill time.

 

 _It’s because I’m dehydrated,_ he thinks

 

_Why am I dehydrated?_

 

He feels the seatbelt cut into his neck and the desert road rumble beneath him and he remembers. Andy is white-knuckling the steering wheel beside him.

 

He takes off his seatbelt and rubs his neck. His knuckles are bruised and bleeding, reminding him of his two black eyes.

 

That fight in the alleyway seemed to have happened weeks ago.

 

He remembers thinking, _He’s pretty strong for a Ritalin Rat_ , as Andy beat him senseless.

 

Or maybe he was beating some sense into him.

 

He wouldn’t have been the first.

 

Pete doesn’t know how long people have been trying to beat some sense into him.

 

His parents tried, for sure. Maybe Travie had tried, before he disappeared. Maybe Ashlee had tried, in her own way.

 

Dirty had tried.

 

Pete didn’t listen.

 

They were all gone now.

 

A sudden anger overtook him and he squeezed his thighs to avoid hitting something. Then he slammed his fists down on the dashboard.

 

Andy swerved a little in surprise, blinking fast and nervous.

 

Pete opened the small cupboard on the dash and dug through it, shoving papers and a first aid kit to the side. He found a pen, like Andy’s, and uncapped it, scribbling on the dashboard and then on his hands and arms. Anywhere there wasn’t a tattoo.

 

He started a haiku he couldn’t finish and wrote down incomplete lines from Shakespeare, rhyming couplets that had made Dirty laugh. Pete rubbed them away with spit.

 

He remembers Andy, who, hysteric, had written _rat_ over and over again on his hands, trailing up his arms. They had faded since then, turning his skin gray, but you could still see his messy handwriting, bleeding into his skin.

 

Pete wrote it on his own hand, in the middle of his palm.

 

RAT.

 

* * *

 

 

They were ambushed when the sun was at it’s hottest.

 

There were four of them. Paint streaked across their sweating, laughing faces as they rode up behind the truck on motorcycles, rapping their knuckles on the trailer.

 

Andy began to hyperventilate.

 

The group pulled in front of the cab, laughing hysterically. Pete could see one of them pour from a bottle down his throat as he passed, dyed green hair flapping in the wind. _Acid Rain,_ Pete thought. _Desert alcohol._

 

Pete rolled down his window and a boy with a gruesome smile painted on his face yelled, “Death to BLI bitches!” then pulled forward with his friends.

 

They sped in front of the cab, high-fiving and passing the bottle of Acid Rain between them, driving with one hand or even bracing their knees against the handlebars.

 

The they slowed, their wheels brushing against the grate at the front of the cab.

 

Andy slammed the brakes and Pete was flung forward against the dashboard, squeezing his eyes shut as the top of his head hit the windshield. The trailer bumped the cab forward and slid sideways. The four cyclists cheered and hopped off their bikes as Pete rubbed the top of his head.

 

Andy coughed and stumbled out of the cab and the boys laughed, pulling at his white polo shirt. So Andy stood, trying to defend himself and they kept laughing. Pete squinted, his vision swimming from the bump on his head.

 

Andy finally stood his ground and punched one in the face, hard. The boy stumbled, holding his eye, his friends cheered and patted him on the back, pushing him back towards Andy.

 

Andy stood in a fighting stance and Pete remembered their scuffle in the alley once again.

 

_He’s strong for a Ritalin Rat._

 

The kid steadied himself, shaking his head clear, his black curly hair bouncing. Then he and Andy squared up. Pete pulled himself from the cab, falling onto the sand. Something warm dribbled down his chin and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

 

Blood.

 

His nose was bleeding.

 

Andy and the kid circled each other while his friends found Pete and dragged him through the sand by his shirt collar. One with a bandanna tied around his head took his ray gun from its holster and pointed it at the trailer, using a continuous beam to burn five messy tally marks over the Better Living logo.

 

The other two kicked Pete over and over again, yelling curses at BL/ind and Battery City until a low rumble filled everyone’s ears.

 

“Oh, shit, man.” The one with green hair smiled excitedly.

 

His friend with the gruesome smile nodded, smiling even wider. “Dude, The Cobra is gonna _love_ this!” He motioned to the one with the bandanna, “Hey! The Cobra’s coming!”

 

“Really?”

 

“What do you mean, _really?_ You can hear the goddamn engine can’t you?”

 

“Hey!” The bandanna stomped over angrily, “You know my hearing ain’t so good after we blew that base up that kid, what was his name? Fun Ghoul? Anyway, my ears are _still_ ringing!”

 

The rumbling of the engine grew louder as they fought, until it cut, and the three boys froze in place, then called “The Cobra” over.

 

The last thing Pete heard before he passed out was the clink of cowboy boots on the ground and someone cursing furiously in Spanish.

 

* * *

 

 

He woke up again.

 

This time, he found himself surrounded by a rough knit blanket, his headache having persisted through the blackout.

 

He tried to stand, his vision blurry, and someone reached out to steady him.

 

“It’s good to see you awake, _amigo_.” The owner of the voice eased him back onto the bed. “But you took quite a beating.”

 

Pete squinted up at the owner of the voice. “Who?...” His voice came out scratchy and the voice handed him a flask.

 

“Drink, then ask.”

 

Pete drank and his vision cleared. He was met with smiling brown eyes that shone through a purple mask. The man leaned back, his eyes showing relief. “Who are you?” Pete asked, his voice still hoarse with dehydration.

 

The man in the purple mask jumped from his spot on the bed, his boots making a small _clink_ on the ground. He grabbed a large cowboy hat from the foot of the bed and crossed it over his chest, saying, “I am… The Cobra.” He paused and glanced at Pete, who was staring blankly. “Killjoy, smuggler, and friend to all, do you not -?”

 

Pete shook his head.

 

The Cobra sighed exasperatedly, “The Sand Devil? The Spaniard? The Zorro of Zone 1? Come on, nothing?”

 

“No, sorry.”

 

The Cobra huffed and threw the cowboy hat behind him, running a hand through his thick brown hair. “That’s fine, that’s fine… You haven’t heard of me and now you have, that’s _fine_.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Pete wasn’t sure why he was apologizing. “We just got out of the City, Andy and I were driving and… Andy!” Pete jumped to his feet, glancing quickly around the small house. “We were ambushed by these guys on motorcycles and I lost track of him-”

 

“Relax, amigo, your friend is fine,” The Cobra assured. “He is quite strong for a zombie, you know.”

 

“Zombie?”

 

“Like a Ritalin Rat,” Cobra waved his hand dismissively. “He put up quite a fight… Here, follow me.” He led Pete through a small doorway into an open air campsite. “I sleep inside but the Rejects believe the sand is a god so they sleep on the ground.” He swept his hand over the landscape, pointing out four dirty sheets land next to each other on the ground under the shelter.

 

“The Rejects?” Pete furrowed his brow, glancing around for any sign of Andy.

 

The Cobra rolled his eyes. “Yes, the Rejects, they’re idiots but they mean well.” He raised his voice. “ _But that doesn’t excuse the fact that they couldn’t tell a Draculoid from a cactus!_ ”

 

“You don’t have to be rude, mate.” A voice came from behind a pole supporting the shelter.

 

“Why are you standing behind a pole?” The Cobra marched over and pulled the boy with green hair into sight. Pete took a step back, expecting him to grab Cobra by the throat while laughing hysterically. “Why are _any_ of you standing behind poles?”

 

The boy with the terrible smile stepped out from behind the pole Pete had backed into. “We were waiting for you to wake up, man.”

 

“But you…” Pete instinctively grabbed his swollen nose.

 

“Meet the Rejects, amigo, or,” The Cobra smacked the one with a bandanna on the back of the head. “The assholes that ambushed you.”

 

“We’re _really_ sorry, mate,” The smiling boy said and the one with the green hair continued. “We thought you were BLI.”

 

“To make up for it, I made them push your truck back here.” Cobra pointed behind Pete and the three Rejects nodded, not seeming incredibly inconvenienced.

 

“I steered,” The bandanna waved and Pete gulped.

 

“Wait,” The Cobra counted on his fingers. “There are usually four of you.”

 

“Calum passed out after the fight.” The one with green hair smiled like it was the funniest thing in the world. “So we left him in the back of the truck with your friend.”

 

“Your friend got the shakes and took a pill,” The bandanna's eyes went wide. “He got all weird and blank so we put him in the back of the truck.” The smiling one nodded and knelt in the sand, gathering some in his fist and holding it like his life depended on it.

 

The Cobra watched for a moment, transfixed, then motioned for Pete to follow him back into his hut. He muttered something about dust.”You know,” The Cobra looked back at the three boys. “They’re such nice boys, but I will _never_ forgive their parents for teaching them such a polka-dotty religion.”

 

“I thought there was only one religion in the desert,” Pete said absently, staring into the house and at the many dream catchers that hung from the ceiling. He wondered if any of them worked.

 

“Destroya, yes…” The Cobra adjusted the mask on his face. “Have you ever read the Graffiti Bible?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then you should know that it’s filled with poems and stories of _thousands_ of gods, all coming from the zones, most of them created during the Wars.” The Cobra dug the truck’s keys out from under some blankets and tossed them to Pete. “Destroya is probably the most prominent among many.”

 

“What do you believe in?” Pete caught the keys, which felt hot in his nervous hands.

 

The Cobra sneered, “My parents believed in a snake that swallowed the sun every night, and one day it would swallow us all. When I left to become a Killjoy, my parents told me that the snake would bite the path I walked on, so I told them I never believed in the snake.”

 

“Is that why you took the name The Cobra?”

 

The Cobra’s eyes sparkled underneath his mask. “Why try and kill a god when you can just become one? I hear stories everyday about new gods and then I meet their inspiration as simply regular people. But with the Rejects… it’s different, I suppose. Their god was created over many years of stories and art.”

 

“You said they believed the sand was a god?” Pete lead the way to the truck.

 

“Yes,” The Cobra finally removed his mask, wiping sweat from his forehead. “They believe the sand holds the souls of hundreds of Killjoys and Zone Runners, even Dracs and neutrals, and all of those conflicting ideas and anger and sadness created a being that preyed off fear and nightmares.”

 

Pete glanced at The Cobra, who stared straight ahead at the truck and the five tally marks burned into the side. They made their way to the back of the trailer with Pete rubbing one of the keys in between his fingers. The Cobra continued.

 

“The Rejects believe that praying to this being can protect you from your enemies, preserve food, and even make water spring from the driest of places.” Pete put the key in the lock and The Cobra stopped. “That’s not all.”

 

Pete’s hand hovered over the lock, seeing the spark in The Cobra’s eyes had gone out. “They believe that you can send this being after you enemies, cursing them with sickness and driving them mad. They’ve told me stories of BLI agents that trespassed in their village when they were kids. Their mothers and fathers would tie them up and bury them in the sand and dance and laugh and pray as the agents would near suffocate under the earth.They would paint their faces and dig them back up, laughing and singing and talking _loco_.”

 

Pete turned away, his hands shaking like The Cobra’s voice as he pushed the back of the trailer open.

 

“I’ve seen them do it,” The Cobra replaced his mask and grabbed the boy Andy had fought from the truck, his face full of bruises. “They captured two exterminators from a full group heading to Zone 5 and buried them outside my house, painting their faces and praying to the sand. The Exterminators came out of the ground giggling and wandered into the desert, chanting about someone they saw in their dreams.”

 

Pete jumped onto the bed of the truck, trying to ignore The Cobra’s speech. He found Andy, sitting alone at the back of the trailer, holding a wet rag to his swollen face, a bottle of pills wrapped tightly between his fingers. Pete stared into Andy’s eyes, blank and milky from the drugs. They seemed to glow in the dim light and his voice held no emotion when he greeted Pete.

 

“Good morning Peter.”

 

Pete shivered and The Cobra continued:

 

“They chanted his name as the desert swallowed them, a being all in black that they said killed their minds and drove them insane.”

 

Pete stared at Andy’s blank face as he sat, shaking, clutching the bottle of pills tightly in his fist.

 

“They called him the Sandman.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Rejects built a small campfire outside of the Cobra’s hut and The Cobra made them all dinner from a watery canned meat called Power Pup. Pete took one bite and spit it back out, saying it tasted like dog food. This made The Rejects laugh, loud and fast.

 

They finally introduced themselves by name, The Rejects, apologizing all the way. The Cobra returned to his smiling self so fast it almost made Pete dizzy.

 

The bandanna was named Ashton and he bragged the whole night about getting to steer the truck back home. The one with the gruesome smile painted on his face was Luke, and the boy with green hair was Michael.

 

The boy Andy had fought finally woke and shook Pete’s hand repeatedly, apologizing, his name is Calum, but it took him a moment to remember, still dazed and confused from the hits to his head.

Andy sat off to the side, blank and plastic-looking, and The Rejects avoided him like he had a disease. Pete felt the small glass bottle in his pocket, along his the syringe.

 

He kept a close eye on him as they sat around the fire.

 

“So why did you leave the city?” Luke asked, he had washed the paint off his face and Pete could finally make out his sharp features.

 

“Uh… There was this group of Rebels in the slums,” Pete began. “And they… tore apart my family… so I left.” Pete shrugged, not wanting to say something that would bring back memories.

 

“Who led the group?” the Cobra questioned.

 

“I don’t know,” Pete looked over at Andy. “Some people called her Miss Love.”

 

Ashton gasped and elbowed Michael, who pushed Ashton out of his seat saying, “I know!” then turned to Pete. “Miss Love, as in Miss Courtney Love?” Pete shrugged.

 

“If she was in the City, it’s gotta be her,” Ashton pushed his way back onto the bench. “She’s from our village but then fell in with a weird group that carried around dead bodies.” Michael nodded.

 

“She got kicked out of town because she was talking crazy about some Brightside dude, but she was the first girl I ever met who actually _wanted_ to get into the City.”

 

“Brightside dude?” Pete furrowed his brow.

 

The Cobra leaned in, “They’re a cult out in Zones 2 and 3. I haven’t heard much except that they smuggled dead bodies from all around, trying to burn enough to summon a demon or even a god.”

 

* * *

 

 

Day turned to night and the sky filled with stars.

 

The Rejects painted their faces once again and put on a small show for them. Dancing and jumping around the fire like animals. Pete wondered if they had seemed threatening to the Exterminators, hooting and hollering into the night sky, leaping after the sparks as they flew into the flames.

 

Their painted faces made them look like monsters and it seemed it was Ashton’s turn to wear that terrible smile. His face was illuminated and his white teeth glowed as he jumped at them, growling in their faces.

 

Contrary to the fear The Cobra exhibited earlier, he laughed and danced with them to the beat Michael pounded into a makeshift drum.

 

Pete smiled for the first time in a while.

 

Ashton leapt in front of Pete and thrust his hands into the sand, impossibly deep, up to his elbows. When he dug them back out, he held a large clump of wet sand in his fist.

 

Some fell between his fingers, dotting the lighter sand on the surface.

 

Cobra stared at the hole, devoid of any emotion.

 

“I know we have already apologized,” Ashton clutched the wet sand and the other three boys  halted in their dance. “But we really are sorry and the desert is a dangerous place. We cannot do much to protect you, wherever you are going but,” He let the rest of the wet sand drop to the ground. “I pray that water will follow you through the sand.”

 

Luke nodded and bent down, grabbing a fistful of dry sand and throwing it into the air. A strong wind blew and the fire crackled. “May your flask never run dry.”

 

The Cobra stood and walked back to his small home, muttering in Spanish under his breath.

 

Michael copied Luke, dumping sand onto his drum and tapping a simple beat that seemed to echo through the desert.

 

* * *

 

 

Pete met with The Cobra the next morning.

 

“I don’t know how to repay you,” he told the Killjoy. “You really helped us.”

 

“It’s a good thing I know exactly how you can repay me.” The Cobra seemed on edge, ready for a fight. “I load your truck with my merchandise. I’m a smuggler too, _remember_? You follow this road,” He pointed in a direction that didn’t really look like a road at all. “Until you reach the Zone 1 market, you can’t miss it, find my buddy Suarez, tell him you found some Snakeskin in the desert and he’ll direct you from there, got it?”

 

Pete got the feeling asking The Cobra to repeat himself would be hazardous to his health so he nodded,digging the keys from his pocket and opening the trailer. The Rejects loaded it with boxes of smuggled products from Battery City. Andy sat alone, off to the side, staring at the horizon.

 

Pete wondered if he had taken another that morning.

 

He pushed Andy into the passenger side, Pete would drive this time.

 

The Cobra stopped him before he could step into the cab. “A word of advice,” He adjusted the mask on his face. “Get a new name and buy a mask from Tommy Chow Mein when you get to the market. It’s not safe to use your real name when you’re a smuggler.”

 

Pete wanted to say he wasn’t a smuggler, but glancing back at the trailer, filled with stolen BLI merchandise, he realized he was. He nodded and stepped into the cab. The Cobra patted the door closed.

 

Then Calum was at the window, replacing The Cobra. He pointed to Andy, who sat in the passenger seat, staring blankly at the dent in the dashboard that Pete had created. The windshield was cracked as well.

 

“I am praying for your friend,” he said, the motioned to his split lip. “He’s pretty strong and I want him to get over his sickness.” Pete stared at Calum’s painted face then at Andy and his ink-covered arms. He remembered what he had written in the center of his palm.

 

_Rat._

 

Pete started the engine and glanced back at Calum. “He’s not sick.”

 

Then he pushed down the gas pedal and drove away, the sand and dust flying around the truck.

 

Andy wrung his hands and whispered under his breath, “Will the Sandman fix me?”

 

“The Sandman doesn’t exist.”

 

_“Show me a man with a tattoo and I'll show you a man with an interesting past.”_

_―_ _Jack London_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BBAAAACCKK  
> So this Chapter is basically backstory; happening a little before the warehouse and the Brightside Cult and telling you what Pete and Andy were doing in that small window of time.  
> I hope you all like it and I'll answer any questions you might have in the comments!


	13. and Skeletons

 

_ “Because men are just boys grown taller.” _

_ -Anonymous _

  
  


The inside of the truck brought Horseshoe Crab bad memories. 

 

He remembers the smell of the bodies, every bump in the road, and the dark of the trailer.

 

The walls of the trailer press at him from all sides and he is  _ afraid _ and Benzedrine,  _ oh god Benzedrine, _ is passed out and barely moving.

 

A dead body.

 

He feared for his life just as he had then. He hyperventilated and pulled at his hair and stared the man who only minutes before had torn another man twice his his size to pieces, his eyes glowing an unearthly yellow.

 

His eyes adjusted to the dark of the trailer and he could finally see Dr. Benzedrine, passed out on the floor, his skin looked an ash gray and he twisted and pulled at his clothes, restless.

 

Claustrophobia made him panic and he finally couldn’t take it anymore, he needed  _ out.  _ His mother was here, smiling and deranged, his father’s blood splattered on her face, “What will the desert hold for us?” She had said in the kitchen.

 

Now, in the truck, she said, “The doctor is what the desert held.”

 

Horseshoe pulled at his curly and ran at the entrance of the trailer, bracing his shoulder and trying to break to get out _ out _ **_out._ **

 

His breathing was heavy as his mother laughed at the edge of his vision, always at the edge. “The doctor can help you my lucky star,” She knelt by Dr. Benzedrine, “Shall we wake the beast for Mr. Brightside?”

 

“No,” Horseshoe could barely take in a breath as he rammed himself into the entrance of the truck, “No he’ll kill us… He’ll kill us.”

 

“I would never let him hurt you dear,” Then she was at his side as he pulled at his hair, she brushed a hand down his cheek. _ “Never.” _

 

Horseshoe pushed her away and rammed his shoulder against the metal. Dr. Benzedrine stirred and grasped at the air in his sleep. Horseshoe stared at him in fear as the truck rumbled to a stop, he sunk to the ground, shaking and heaving in gasps of air. The back of the trailer opened and his mother disappeared.

 

A dirty ray gun was pointed at him, shaking and nervous in the dim light of the moon. It’s owner took in a hard gasp, “Holy shit,” The ray gun was put away as Horseshoe curled in on himself, “Holy shit, I’m so sorry, shit.”

 

The man put hesitant hands on Horseshoe’s shoulder, “Are you okay? Is it an overdose?” The man left and came back with another, both of them short and glancing over their shoulders. The first one motioned to his friend, “Can you help me? Get him out and support his head, I think, I’m not sure if it’s an overdose or not.”

 

His friend glances at Horseshoe, his eyes glassy. It takes him a minute to respond, “Okay.” Then Horseshoe is on the sand, his head supported by the man’s knees. He takes deep, shuddering breaths and looks up at the trailer and the man from earlier. He climbs up into the truck and Horseshoe wants to stop him.

 

He needs to stop him.

 

“He’ll kill you,” he wants to say, “He’ll kill us all.”

  
  


“There’s someone else,” The man in the truck said, “I told you I heard something back there,” The supporting Horseshoe’s head didn’t speak. Instead, he stared down at him with glazed over eyes. Horseshoe squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down, then he crawled away from the man. 

 

Standing was slow and his shoulder was sore and most likely bruised, he cursed himself.  _ Panic attacks.  _ It was the first he’d had in awhile. The man in the truck finally returned, “His friend isn’t-” He caught sight of Horseshoe, “Your friend isn’t waking up… I mean, he’s alive! But-”

 

“I know.” Horseshoe interrupted. “I don’t think he should be awake right now.”

 

“Oh,” The man gazed into the darkened trailer, “Why not?”

 

“He…” Horseshoe looked away, “I don’t know.”

 

The man looked back at him, “Well… I’m glad you’re okay, I thought you were having a seizure or something.” The man that had supported his head stood up, and Joe could finally see him fully. He was lean yet gaunt looking, contrary to his partner, who was broad shouldered and full-faced.

 

“Yeah, thanks,” Horseshoe took a step towards the trailer, towards Dr. Benzedrine, “I’m sorry about hitchhiking on your truck.”

 

“No it’s fine, It’s hard to find uh… friendly people?” He paused his face growing concerned, “Out in the desert.”

 

His quiet friend nodded.

 

His stuck out a hand, “My name is…” He thought for a moment, “My name is Black Card, and um, my friend’s name is… Racetraitor.” He didn’t look to sure.

 

Horseshoe shook Black Card’s hand anyway. “Horseshoe Crab,” he looked towards the trailer, “And that’s Dr. Benzedrine.” Black Card nodded and they separated.

 

“Do you…” Black Card glanced nervously at Racetraitor, who had moved to sit on the back of the trailer, crossing his ankles and gathering his hands in his lap, “Do you want to start a fire or something? I know it’s a bit dangerous to be moving at night.”

 

“Do you have anything to start a fire?” Horseshoe asked. Black Card shrugged.

 

“Probably not.”

 

“Racetraitor spoke up, “We have a lantern.”

 

“We have a lantern.” Black Card repeated, “So what do you say?”

* * *

 

 

They sat in the trailer around the light of a dim lantern that cast a cold white light, illuminating everyone’s faces and casting shadows upward that distorted their true appearance. It lit up Dr. Benzedrine’s light yellow mask and when the lantern flickered, the feathers would quiver as if they were real. Horseshoe couldn’t help but stare.

 

Black Card fumbled with his ray-gun, pressing the tiny buttons on the bottom and watching as it lit up under his touch. Racetraitor sat in the same place, staring out into the desert.

 

They sat in silence like this until Horseshoe couldn’t take it anymore. “Where did you get that ray-gun? It looks like crap.” He tried breaking the silence.

 

Black Card huffed out a small laugh, “Yeah, it is,” He set it down and looked at Horseshoe in the dim light, “I got it at that market in Zone 1, it was the best one I could find without having to take my pants off.” Horseshoe gave him a small smile.

 

“I know what that feels like.” He touched his mask, which hung around his neck, “I paid fourteen carbons and my underwear to get this, it wasn’t even painted yet.”

 

“ _ Pants and _ underwear?” Black Card asked incredulous.

 

“ _ Just  _ underwear.”

 

“Oh my god!” Black Card laughed.

 

Silence fell again and Black Card turned his gaze onto Dr. Benzedrine, “So…” He was trying to be delicate, “What’s the deal with your friend?”

 

“Nothing,” Horseshoe winced, thinking he had answered too quickly. “He just passed out.”

 

“Huh,” Black Card kept staring, “I feel like I‘ve seen him before…” He suddenly snapped his fingers. “The zone one market! I even waved to you guys!”

 

“Oh, ha ha.” Horseshoe had no memory of this whatsoever.

 

Dr. Benzedrine stirred in his sleep, in response, Racetraitor stood and said: “I’m going to sleep up front.”

 

“Oh, okay.” Black Card nodded, then turned back to Horseshoe, “Do you mind if I sleep as well? I haven’t shut my eyes for like two days.” Horseshoe shrugged and looked out onto the desert, counting the stars, or satellites, whatever they were now.

 

When he looked back, Black Card was asleep.

 

He stared into the flickering flame of the lantern, he wanted to stay awake, still untrusting of his new acquaintances.

 

But the next time a hot, whisper quiet wind came through the trailer, blowing out the lantern, Horseshoe Crab was sleeping peacefully.

 

* * *

 

 

He awoke to the sound of talking, just above a whisper.

 

“So what happened?” Black Card’s voice intruded into his consciousness.

 

“I don’t know,” Dr. Benzedrine spoke, “Everything got all hot… and lightning struck and I wake up in your truck.”

 

“Wow,” Black Card whispers, bringing his arms around his knees, “I don’t know if I could have done that… All I did was drive out of the city…”

 

“Not an easy thing to do.” Dr. Benzedrine assured.

 

“Well yeah, but I had help… I thought I could get away from weird cults and BLi in the zones…”

 

“Weird cults…” Horseshoe mumbled, and Benzedrine smiled.

 

“Hey Crab,” He motioned to Black Card, “This is the owner of the truck, Black-”

 

“I know,” Horseshoe Crab interrupted, rubbing his eyes, “What did you say about a cult? Mr. Brightside?”

 

“Yeah,” Black Card nodded, “I didn’t know at first, but in the city there’s a group of rebels, led by a Miss Love, but they’re radicals, I left the city to escape them.”

 

“Turns out Mr. Brightside has more reach than we thought,” Benzedrine’s eyes were wide. 

 

Horseshoe had to look away from him.

 

“They can’t be that powerful,” Black Card tried to bargain, “I mean, if it’s a few small groups-”

 

“Not from what we saw at that warehouse,” Horseshoe assumed Benzedrine had already told Black Card about the mission they had made with Sixx to recover the bodies from Zone 5. “And from what I saw with my mom, they must be run tightly,  _ made _ to look small.”

 

Benzedrine nodded. “And there’s got to be some type of leader.”

 

“Miss Love?” Black Card asked.

 

Horseshoe shrugged, “Or the guy back at the warehouse,” He got to his feet and stretched, “But there’s no way to find out.”

 

“Well,” Dr. Benzedrine looked up at him, hesitant, “What  _ do _ we know? From the city, and the desert.”

 

Horseshoe flicked his eyes back and forth between Black Card and Dr. Benzedrine, who had moved to face each other head on. He breathed inward and forced himself to look at Benzedrine. “Wait,” he said, “We can’t just give information away like that.”

 

Dr. Benzedrine didn’t look surprised, “It’s a fair trade.”

 

Horseshoe cursed under his breath,  _ He would know,  _ he thought,  _ Desert born. _

 

He was surprised by how angry that had sounded. Benzedrine continued, more cautious, “I just need to know more, we went in with no knowledge except what you and Sixx knew, even if it’s the smallest detail, I need to know.”

 

A cloud passed over the sun, and for a brief moment, Horseshoe could swear he could see the demon-like yellow glow just under Dr. Benzedrine’s clear hazel eyes. Then it was gone. Horseshoe felt as if all the air had been pushed from his lungs.

 

“You do whatever you want,” The walls of the trailer were starting to push at him again, “I’m going to take a walk.”

 

Then he left without another word.

 

The sun beat down and he almost regretted leaving the cool shade of the trailer as he made his way around the truck but he shook it off. Five tally marks burned into the side of the trailer caught his eye, the covered the BLi logo, narrow and messy, leaving gray singe marks all around the black smiling face. He reaches the cab.

 

Inside sits Black Card’s companion, Racetraitor, he stares blankly at the sand through the windshield and Horseshoe wonders if he’s listening to to the radio. He opens the driver’s side door to the sound of silence.

 

“Hey,” Horseshoe climbs into the driver’s seat. Racetraitor doesn’t move.

 

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Horseshoe reaches hesitantly for the dials on the radio, wondering if Racetraitor would stop him or not. But a quiet static was met with ignorance.

 

“No,” Racetraitor’s voice was blank yet sad, it almost made Horseshoe want to leave, “We haven’t.”

 

“Well, not completely anyway,” He tried to smile, Racetraitor didn’t even take a glance at him, Horseshoe leaned onto the center console with one elbow, trying to get the radio tuned. His elbow hit something in the cup holder that shook when he moved away.

 

A pill bottle.

 

Oh.

 

“Hey, Racetraitor?” Horseshoe began, looking intently as the other man turned his head, his gaze questioning, and his eyes, milky and gone of emotion.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Nothing,” Horseshoe looked back at the radio, biting his lip, feeling as if he might scream.

 

* * *

 

 

He soon left the truck, not being able to stand it any longer, and found Dr. Benzedrine laughing about something with Black Card. Their conversation halted immediately when Horseshoe showed his face.

 

“We were talking about the Brightside Cult,” Black Card began, “I want to help you.”

 

Horseshoe turned to Benzedrine, who stopped him before he could speak, “I know what you're gonna say Horseshoe, and I know, but from what we saw back at the warehouse… We need help, as little as that help may be.”

 

“We put together a few ideas, and I won’t get in your way.” Black Card looked almost scared, “These people ruined my life, along with BL/ind, and I can’t go after a megacorporation, or even a cult on my own.”

 

Horseshoe thought about it for a moment, “So, what’s your idea?” Black Card looked taken aback, then gathered his thoughts.

 

“We don’t know anything about the cult besides what we have already experienced, even if they want to get rid of BLi, they’re still dangerous, and who else would know more about them than someone who is actually in it?”

 

“So…”

 

“I don’t know,” Black Card rubbed the back of his head, “We… could kidnap someone?”

“Kidnap someone…” Horseshoe repeated, trying to sound taken aback, “Kidnap someone in the brightside cult?” Black Card nodded. “That’s slightly crazy.’

  
  


“I think we should do it.” Dr. Benzedrine stated.

 

“Wha-  _ How _ would we do it?” Horseshoe threw his hands upward. “Go back to the warehouse?”

 

“Yes!” Dr. Benzedrine cut in front of Black Card, “If they’re still going forward with all those bodies, someone has to come and help, we just take one of those people-”

 

“We can’t just…” But Horseshoe couldn’t think of any singular argument against it other than: ‘Kidnapping people is wrong’ and his mother didn’t seem all that hesitant when she kidnapped him. “We can’t kill them afterwards.”

 

“Is that even a debate? Of course we can’t kill them, we go in, we grab a person, ask them for information and then set them loose.” Black Card once again stood by Dr. Benzedrine.

 

“What’s to stop the guy we kidnapped from just running back and telling everyone?” Horseshoe asked. 

 

“We dump him in the desert somewhere?” Black Card said, tilting his head ever so slightly, “Just pants and a bottle of water.” Behind them, the door of the cab slammed shut, and Racetraitor made his way to stand next to Horseshoe.

 

Everyone was there.

 

“We’re going to kidnap someone, Race.” Black Card filled him in.

 

“Is it about Brightside?” Racetraitor was quiet, glancing around himself at the hot sand and fingering the edge of his dusty polo shirt, now ragged around the edges. Black Card nodded and Racetraitor sucked in a breath, “Okay, I understand.”

 

Dr. Benzedrine shook his head, “We just need information and then we’re letting him go, it’s okay if you don’t-”

 

“No,” Racetraitor stopped him, “I know, and I want to help, I want to take Brightside down with you.”

 

“Then we drive back tonight,” Dr. Benzedrine smiled, “We d surveillance, then we grab someone and go, easy.” Those words made Horseshoe Crab feel strained.

 

Easy.

 

Not if Dr. Benzedrine became what he had been last night.

 

But the decision was already made, and they all shared a can of pup between them, Black Card apologized, “It’s all we have right now, I’ll go back to the market in Z one 1 and get some more if we stick together.”

 

Before they loaded up in the truck Black Card introduced himself again. “My name is Pete, and Racetraitor is Andy.” Him and Dr. Benzedrine shook hands.

 

“Patrick,” Dr. Benzedrine began, then looked at Horseshoe, who looked away towards the truck.

 

“I can drive us back if you want, I know the way,” Horseshoe gestured toward the truck. Black Card scratched a sunburn on his face.

 

“Yeah, of course.”

 

Dr. Benzedrine twisted his face into one of concern and Horseshoe wondered if it was real or not. Then, he gathered himself, and they all set off in the truck with the sun disappearing under the sand. The sky turned purple and stars twinkled into being.

 

With Horseshoe driving, they had pulled the center console up to create a third seat where Black Card sat, Benzedrine sat in the passenger seat. Racetraitor, Andy, rode in the trailer, unafraid of the cold of the night, even with only a thin polo shirt to protect him.

 

“I wanna switch with him after a while okay?”  Black Card wrung his hands, “He kind of does what he wants but I don’t want him back there alone for so long.”

 

Horseshoe finally understood why people were so afraid of driving at night.

 

Everything seemed faster, he took corners more sharply, and he expected to be in an accident every time he blinked. Lone Draculoids burst out of bushes on the side of the road and he had to stop himself from taking out his ray-gun and shooting at them through the windows.

 

With the motorcycles and dirtbikes he always drove, he could see everything at once with no obstructions. But with the truck, he felt as if he could barely breath.

 

Black Card stared straight ahead at the road, flinching at every bump in the road and almost screaming when the first Drac crossed their path, and Dr. Benzedrine, Dr. Benzedrine was desert born, unafraid yet always alert.

 

He knew the desert like he knew his mother, it was his home and it showed when night fell. Horseshoe would glance at him every so often, just to make sure.

 

To make sure it was really Dr. Benzedrine, sitting in that chair.

 

Halfway through their trip Black Card woke up from where he was leaning on Benzedrine’s shoulder. They led him out to the trailer and met Racetraitor, who clambered out onto the sand without a word, Benzedrine stopped Black Card before he could move. “I’ll sit back here, okay? You shouldn’t have to, I’m used to the cold.”

 

He climbed into the trailer, silent and at ease, but when he pulled the door to the trailer down, he stared at Horseshoe, his eyes full of guilt and confusion.

 

Horseshoe couldn’t get back to the cab fast enough.

* * *

 

 

“Is this the place?” Black Card peered over the sand dune.

 

Horseshoe nodded, staring at the large building, charred and still burning in places, most likely Sixx’s handiwork.

 

Body Bags were laid out on the ground, some of them burnt round the others and some of them completely black. The woman from the night before, the one called ‘Momma’, stood in the midst of it all, her face angry and tense as she ordered around a few lackeys.

 

“Don’t tell me what you _ can or can’t _ do you sons of bitches!” She yelled at them, “If you don’t fix him you won’t see tomorrow! You!” She pointed at one small boy, “Get over here! The rest of you get the bodies that aren’t burned into that stupid truck of yours!”

 

There were murmurings of: “Yes ma’am.” And the woman pulled the boy she had pointed to over by his arm.

 

“Now I know you have some experience-” The boy shook his head as he was dragged along, Horseshoe followed them with his eyes as they made their way to the other side of the warehouse. Black Card pointed to one of the men loading up a flatbed truck.

 

“He looks small enough, we should be able to take him.”

 

“No, look,” Horseshoe pointed to the boy that Momma was dragging behind her, “If she lets that alone we can take him easy.”   

 

_ “If,”  _ Black Card stressed, “Where did you say Dr. Benzedrine is with the truck?”

 

“Just over that dune,” Horseshoe whispered, pointing behind them. 

 

“Okay, we can get these guys with surprise then Racetraitor can subdue them.”

 

“Are you sure he’s as strong as you say he is? I mean, he is-”

 

“I’m sure,” Black Card didn’t let him finish, “I’ve seen him in a fight.”

 

“Okay,” Horseshoe crept to the other side, “Let’s get over there.” They made their way past the dune to another one closer to the side of the warehouse. Momma led the boy to a table where they could see someone lying down.

 

“Who is that?” Black Card asked quietly.

 

“I don’t know-” Horseshoe took in a sharp breath, “Oh my god, he’s alive.”

 

“Who?”

 

“He’s the guy in charge, I think, I thought I killed him.”

 

“Well you obviously didn’t if she’s trying to fix him.”

 

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter now, let’s just kidnap this kid and go.”

 

Momma was lecturing the boy, who kept refusing, saying he didn’t know how to help her son, she slapped him. “Are you crying you little bitch?” The boy fell to the ground, “You will fix my darling boy, or I will shoot you, do you understand?” The boy sobbed and she kicked him in the stomach. “Needles and thread are over there.”

 

“I- I’m telling you, I…  _ I can’t-”  _ The boy sobbed and Momma hit him again, a crash came from where the other men were loading the truck and Momma whirled around in a huff. 

 

“What have those  _ idiots _ done now?” She was about to see what they had done before she stopped, “You fix my son before we leave in the morning! Do you hear me?” The boy nodded, trying to sit up.

 

Then Momma left, and the boy limped over to the table. “Okay,” Horseshoe whispered and pulled up his mask, “Go get Racetraitor.” Black Card nodded and took off towards the truck. The boy at the table opened a small box and pulled out a rag and a bottle of water, he wiped his tears and wetted the rag, his hand shaking as he wiped the Southern Man’s wounds. Horseshoe Crab snuck up behind him, being careful not to catch the attention of Momma and her lackeys.

 

The boy was shaking as he cleaned the Man’s stomach, it must have been a graze, and Horseshoe mentally kicked himself for not aiming better.

 

Then he nearly leapt at the boy, wrapping a hand around his mouth and dragging him backwards. He struggled and kicked sand into Horseshoe’s face as he was dragged up the dune. Racetraitor was there to take him just as he was getting loose. Under Race’s hold he could barely move.

 

They dragged him the rest of the way to where Black Card was waiting with the truck. “C’mon! Benzedrine is ready to drive, lets go!”

 

They threw the boy into the back and followed him, with Black Card running to the back of the trailer to pound on the wall separating them from Benzedrine. 

 

Horseshoe pulled down the trailer door as Racetraitor held the boy down, who was shaking his head, halfway to tears again. “Please, please I’m sorry, for whatever I did I’m sorry, please don’t kill me!”

 

Black Card shushed him as the engine came to life and they set off.

 

He isn’t sure how long they drove, but Horseshoe knew they were all paranoid about a secluded area, even then, he had started to become sick of the bumps in the road. Every twist in the road sent them rolling in the back of the truck, and the boy had even stopped crying long enough to keep himself steady in Racetraitor’s arms.

 

They finally stopped and Horseshoe opened the door quickly as the boy began to struggle again. “Put him on the ground,” Black Card ordered, and he cried fat tears as Andy set him down far more gently than expected.

 

“Please don’t hurt me!” The boy cried, his messy blond hair making a halo around his head. “Please! I never wanted this! Oh Destroya, _ please! _ ” Dr. benzedrine clambered out of the cab and made his way over, then stopped dead in his tracks.

 

Black Card pressed his dusty ray gun in the kid’s face, “Here’s what’s gonna happen buddy,” The boy took in a ragged breath and Dr. Benzedrine rushed forward, pulling his yellow mask off of his face.

 

“Pete, stop!” He pushed Black Card out of the way, then stared down at the boy in astonishment. “Ben?” He finally managed to whisper. “Ben Barlow? Is that really you?”

 

‘Ben’ stared up at Dr. Benzedrine before bursting into tears once again, and almost launching himself at the doctor. They hugged for a moment, and Black Card pushed his ray-gun back into it’s holster, slightly annoyed that he couldn’t use it.

 

“Oh my god I thought you died!” Dr. Benzedrine exclaimed, holding onto Ben as he sobbed into his arms. He finally pulled away, sniffling.

 

“I ran as fast as I could with exterminators chasing me the whole way… and you, I thought…” Ben sniffed and wiped his eyes on the crusty sleeve of his jacket. “I thought you were  _ gone,  _ Patrick, not even Dr. Death-Defying knew what happened to you.”

 

“What happened to you?!” Dr. Benzedrine grabbed Ben by the shoulders, “How did you even get in league with the Brightside Cult?” Ben swayed in his arms, and Dr. Benzedrine looked at the three of them, Black Card, Racetraitor, and Horseshoe Crab. “Guys,” He began, “This is Ben Barlow, he’s… well, he  _ was _ from my village in Zone 5.”

 

* * *

 

 

The sat in the sand, under the stars for a while, until Ben Barlow divulged his story.

 

“I ran… I don’t know how long, until I couldn’t breath anymore. But they just kept chasing me, never stopping. I met a group of… I thought they were neutrals, in Zone 4 who killed them for me, they gave me food, water, a place to sleep, they were so  _ nice. _ I left the next day and… they followed me back, they told me I couldn’t leave, they said I had a debt to him, for my survival.”

 

“Debt to who?” Black Card asked, “Followed you back where?”

 

“They followed me back to Zone 5, they said I had a debt to pay to Mr. Brightside. Then they… they took them, they took the bodies, they took our _ family’s bodies _ Patrick!”

 

“I know.”

 

“Then they wouldn’t let me leave,” Ben gasped for air, “They tied me up on a pole until I told them them I wouldn’t run, oh Destroya will never forgive me, I’m nothing but a coward!” He was hyperventilating now, and Dr. Benzedrine went to him, rubbing circles on his back.

 

“No, you’re not, you have been so brave.” Dr. Benzedrine said, “I need you to even more brave okay? I need you to tell me what you know about the cult.”

 

There was no argument, and Ben Barlow told them everything. Transport, trade and everything else, but Horseshoe knew it still wasn’t enough. They needed to know about their leaders, the cult’s creator, and even after all that, Ben Barlow told them he needed to go back.

 

“I need to help you,” He stressed, “I need Destroya to forgive me.”

 

“But-”

 

“Please Patrick, I need this,  _ you  _ need this, I can find out more,” He started towards the truck, “I can fix that guy up and I can give you an in.”

 

Horseshoe could see from his face that he was set in his decision.

 

“I  _ ran away,  _ Patrick, when you  _ needed  _ me,” Ben Barlow clenched his fists, “I can’t do that again.”

 

They drove back in silence, Dr. Benzedrine drove with Horseshoe in the passenger seat.

 

“Are you sure about this?” He asked.

 

“You heard him,” Benzedrine stared at the road ahead, “He needs to do this, but it doesn’t mean I’m happy about it… I mean, I just got him back.”   
  
“He’ll be okay.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

The rest of the ride was silent.

 

They stopped a mile from the warehouse, and gathered outside the truck. 

 

“I should be able to get back without anyone noticing,” Ben Barlow wrung his hands.

 

“What if that woman did notice?” Black Card asked, “We can still cover for you in case.”

 

“No, it’s fine, I’ll deal with it.” Ben turned to Benzedrine, “I hope… I hope everything works out for you.” Dr. Benzedrine stood for a moment then pulled Ben into a hug.

 

“I’ll see you later Ben Barlow.”

 

“You should know,” Ben Barlow pulled away, “There’s a transport truck, heading to Zone 3, to that place we always talked about?”

 

“The Shithole?” Benzedrine asked.   
  


“Yeah, I hear it’s one of the biggest loads yet, but I still don’t know what they’re planning…” Ben Barlow looked at all four of them individually, “But it can’t be anything good, you could try cutting it off, it might halt their plans a little bit.”

 

“That’s a good idea.” Black Card nodded. 

 

“Right…” Ben Barlow turned to face the warehouse, “Good luck.” Dr. Benzedrine wrapped his arms around himself. Ben turned back for a moment, “Be seeing you Daylight Drug.”

 

“It’s Dr. Benzedrine now,” 

 

Ben Barlow smiled, and they watched him as he disappeared over the dunes.

 

“What do we do now?” asked Racetraitor.

 

“We do what the kid said,” Black Card said, looking at Dr. Benzedrine, who nodded.

 

“We go to Zone 3.” 

 

Horseshoe Crab couldn’t help but notice the small flash of gold in Dr. Benzedrine’s eyes as he said those words.

 

_ “Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.”  _

_ ―  _ _ Leo Tolstoy _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please blame my being late on Band Camp
> 
> And Fall Out Boy is finally together! How will all the events from the past come together? Probably create a big mess...  
> And will Horseshoe Crab finally deal with Dr. Benzedrine? Will Black Card and Racetraitor ever find out? Why am I asking all these questions?!


	14. Saturday

_ “It is not for me to judge another man's life. I must judge, I must choose, I must spurn, purely for myself. For myself, alone.”  _

_ ―  _ _ Hermann Hesse _ _ ,  _ _ Siddhartha _

 

Young Vein entered the tiny kitchen with his friends, his glass of Tea empty and his eyes red from tears.

 

He finally saw the man they called Glass clearly, peeling skin and all. His hair was messy and his clothes dusty with sand. He sat at the end of the table holding a glass of water between two sunburned hands.

 

“Hey Vein!” Brobeck greeted, smiling wildly, “This is my friend, Glass.” He looked extremely excited to be introducing them to each other.

 

The Green Man whispered in Vein’s ear, “He practically fell out of his chair when Baby Snake led Glass inside.”

 

“And Glass,” Brobeck turned to the Wave Head, “This is Young Vein, he’s in the Danger Blues with Green Man and Mona Lisa.” Glass looked slightly overwhelmed as he looked up at Vein, and his voice was scratchy and dull when he greeted them.

 

_ “Hi.” _

 

Young Vein smiled and sat down across from him at the other end of the table, Brobeck wouldn’t stop smiling, and the other two Killjoys in the room, Crash and Secret Lover, looked incredibly uncomfortable. Probably from the mess their partner, Lightning, had caused before Young Vein had entered the picture.

 

“So, Glass…” Secret Lover began, “What do you do when you’re not… here?”

 

_ “...I walk.” _

 

Secret Lover nodded, “Oh.” Baby Snake refilled everyone’s glasses with the Tea, Glass had yet to touch his water.

 

Lightning stomped back into the kitchen through the screen door, which rattled on its hinges as it slammed back into place. He stood there for a moment, his hands covered in black grease and sweaty from the hot sun. “I need some water for the engine.”

 

Baby Snake was tight in his move to stand, “Give me a second,” Lightning nodded and glanced at Glass, who had shrunken down in his seat the shadows making his face even more gaunt than it already was.

 

Lightning pointed at Glass’ water bottle, “Why don’t I just use that so you don’t waste it on a  _ Bather.” _

 

Secret Lover gasped and Baby Snake halted in his tracks, Crash pounded his fists on the table and shouted, “Lightning!” Furious.

 

But the worst was Brobeck, who had stood to confront Lightning, his size dominating against the ornery killjoy. “I swear,  _ to the Phoenix Witch herself,  _ if you use that word one more time, you will never see those fucking tires and you will  _ walk  _ out of here.” Brobeck bent over Lightning, almost spitting in his face.

 

“Brobeck,” Baby Snake spoke quietly, as if fearing the altogether harmless Brobeck could actually hurt Lightning.

 

Brobeck took a step back and grabbed the bottle of water Baby Snake was holding, he shoved it at Lightning and said, “Get out.” Lightning pursed his lips and left without another word. Secret Lover up and followed him, stomping angrily on the wood floor.

 

“Son of a bitch…” She whispered under her breath, Crash accompanied her apologizing to Brobeck on the way out.

 

“Don’t fucking apologize to  _ me.”  _ Brobeck growled, Glass shook his head.

 

_ “It’s okay,” _ Glass squeezed the water bottle,  _ “You didn’t have to defend me like that.” _

 

They all sat in silence for a while, with Green Man and Mona Lisa making quiet conversation off to the side, Baby Snake joined them, then led them to the garage to fix the Land Rover. It was just Brobeck, Glass, and Young Vein.

 

“Did you do anything while you were gone?” Brobeck asked Glass, who finally took a sip from the water bottle, it made Brobeck smile.

 

_ “Not much.”  _ He said,  _ “I missed this place a little.” _

 

“Really?”  Brobeck jumped a little in his seat. Glass took another sip and gave a small smile. “That’s great! We missed you too!” Vein couldn’t help but catch Brobecks infectious positivity.

 

“How did you guys meet?” He asked.

 

“Well, Glass just showed up one day…” Brobeck shook his head, not being able to explain their sudden friendship and Glass only shrugged, tracing patterns in the condensation of his water bottle. Outside, the sky seemed to darken.

 

_ “Thank you for the chair.”  _ He said.

 

Young Vein felt embarrassed at their lack of communication, there was only so much conversation one could make with a Wave Head.

 

Secret Lover came stomping back minutes later, “Acid Rain is coming, and I’m not talking about the drink, just so you know, we’re moving the truck under some shelter.”

 

Brobeck stood fast, slamming his thighs into the table and making the utensils tremble. “Are you sure?” His eyes wide.

 

Secret Lover took a small step backwards, “Well the clouds are green, so….”

 

Brobeck leapt outside and grabbed Glass’ pink lawn chair and threw it inside, “Go and tell Kenny to cover up his cars, I need to go bring in the cushions!” Then he was sprinting into his patchy lawn, gathering decorative flamingos and other assorted lawn ornaments into his arms as Secret Lover yelled after him.

 

“What are you talking about! You don’t have cushions! Just get inside so you don’t get burned!” Secret Lover almost followed him out, but stopped when small drops landed on the porch outside, singing the wood and turning it a slight grey color. 

 

Young Vein could hear Brobeck muttering, “Ow!” under his breath as he made his way back to them. “Ow, ow, ow, ow!”

 

Both Vein and Glass stared with wide eyes as Brobeck entered the kitchen, his face dotted with pink and his hair smoking ever so slightly.

 

“Why didn’t you go tell Baby Snake?” He panted, and Lover stared at him for a moment, bewildered, then rolled her eyes and stomped back into The Shithole. Brobeck emptied his arms of the plastic flamingos and they all hit the ground with a loud  _ bang!  _ Glass flinched ever so slightly.

 

Young Vein took a step past Brobeck as he sorted through all the lawn ornaments. Glass watched him with shifting eyes.

 

The sky was growing darker as Vein stepped outside onto the porch, and he looked up at the now gray looking sky as ugly green clouds traced their way across it. They were heavy looking and covered the sky in swirling patterns that Young Vein stared open mouthed at.

 

He had seen Acid Rain before, but it happened so rarely these days that it almost didn’t seem real. Tiny drops landed on his face and in his hair, singing the tips of his brown locks and leaving small burns on his skin. Brobeck pulled him back inside, scowling, “Are you an idiot or something?”

 

“Sorry,” He said, looking over at Glass, who now stood from the table staring at them both. “Do you need help with anything?”

 

“Well…” Brobeck scratched at his burned nose, “There are holes in the roof upstairs, there’s probably a tarp somewhere around up there, could you go patch them up?”

 

Vein nodded, “Sure.”

 

_ “I’ll help you,”  _ Glass took a swig from his water bottle and set it on the table. Brobeck smiled wide.

 

“Thanks,” Vein led the way out of the kitchen. Glass followed not far behind.

 

“Oh wait!” Brobeck leaned out into the hallway and pointed down a row of shelves, “The stairs are that way, just in case you get lost again.” Vein, who had gone the complete opposite way that Brobeck had pointed, felt the tips of his ears get hot.

 

“Right, thank you.”

 

Glass let out a small snicker.

 

Vein shot him a look and was surprised to see the dullness in his eyes was fading.  _ Must be the water or something _ .

 

They both made their way to a narrow staircase that bounced off the ground as they stepped on it. It must have connected to the second floor via pull string, but it still made Vein’s heart pound with every step.

 

The upstairs was a bit contrary to the downstairs, which was filled to the brim with clutter, whereas the upstairs was barren in comparison. It was only two rooms joined by a narrow hallway, one room, which Vein assumed was Brobeck’s, had only a mat to sleep on two dusty pillows. The rest of the space was dedicated to piles of toys and stuffed animals, torn and full of sand from the desert. Only one had a place on the bed, however, a fluffy, blue striped kitten, scrubbed and kept clean. 

 

Glass took a look up at the ceiling, “ _ No holes in here.” _

 

Vein led the way to Baby Snake’s room.

 

It had the same floor mat pushed in one one corner, but instead used a rolled up blanket as a pillow, and instead of stuffed animals, various tools littered the floor. Along with a few tattered books pushed against the wall, and a tiny desk and chair next to the window. Glass picked one up from the nearest stack and flipped through it, careful not to rip the fragile paper, then tossed it back.  _ “Poetry.” _

 

Vein looked up at the ceiling, where a large gaping hole was letting in thick drops of acid that burned the floor with malice. Vein could understand a skylight’s appeal, but at the rate the rain was falling, the floor would be burned through in an hour or so. “Did you see that tarp Brobeck told us about?”

 

_ “Yeah, out in the hallway.”  _ Glass was already grabbing it as he finished answering. Vein grabbed the rickety chair out from under the desk, along with a thick roll of metallic-looking tape.

 

“Here.” He stepped onto the chair, shielding his face from the rain, “Hold the chair and hand me the tarp.”

 

* * *

 

 

They made their way downstairs as the inside of the house grew dark from the storm. Someone had lit candles of every style in random places along the shelves, dripping candle wax on the floor and giving the rest of the house an eerie orange glow.

 

As they approached the kitchen, Vein could hear the low murmur of Baby Snake and Brobeck talking under the loud of the storm. Both their voices echoed at an incomprehensible frequency that reverberated through the halls as they approached.

 

“I was thinking of changing my name,” Brobeck spoke through his folded arms as he placed his head face down on the table. A tall, thin candle was placed between them. Baby Snake leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest.

 

“To what?”

 

Brobeck sighed and lifted up his chin to rest on his forearms. “I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about a few… Like, Second Boy, or… I don’t know, The Socialite?”

 

“The Tall Man?” Baby Snake joked, putting his feet up on the table. Brobeck snorted.

 

Young Vein rapped his knuckles on the doorframe and Baby Snake and Brobeck looked up them, the dark from the storm and the light of the candle made them both look weary and older than they really were. Brobeck smiled, “You get the roof all patched up?”

 

Baby Snake sat up a little straighter, “Oh yeah, thanks for that, by the way.”

 

“Yeah, it was pretty easy,” Vein shrugged, “Glass helped, he pointed at Glass with his thumb and Baby Snake gave im a small smile.

 

“Thanks man.”

 

_ “It’s nothing.”  _ With all the red already covering his peeling face, it was almost hard to tell the blush creeping up his neck from the sunburns.

 

“Where are my friends?” asked Vein.

 

“In the garage, probably watching the storm,” Baby Snake said, “At the rate it’s going it probably won’t end in a while.”

 

“Alright,” Vein turned and maneuvered around Glass, a minute of making his way around piles of old shoes and stacked chairs and shelves made him realize he was being followed. Glass stood a foot or two behind, staring at his own bare feet.

 

_ “ Sorry,”  _ Glass picked up a small toy mouse made of aluminum from the shelf to his right,  _ “I don’t know what I should be doing.” _

 

“You can come to the garage with me, it’s fine,” Vein tried for a small smile. “I’m sure Secret Lover gave that Lightning guy a talking to, so…”

 

Glass shook his head, then leaned against the shelf, fidgeting with the toy mouse.  _ “You can just go, it’s okay.” _

 

Vein said: “Sure,” Then turned and hesitated. He turned back, “My name’s Ryan,” He held out his hand. Glass stared at it for a moment, then took it in his own.

 

_ “Brendon.” _

 

“So, uh… Brendon,” Vein crossed his arms and leaned against the same shelf, “Where are you from?”

 

_ “The city,” _ Glass croaked,  _ “You?” _

 

“Same, well technically Zone 1, since we lived right on the edge...What brought you to the desert?”

 

Glass looked away and Vein winced, trying to recover, “So how did you really meet Brobeck and Snake?”

 

Glass looked up at him again,  _ “Like Brobeck said, I guess, I kept ending up on their porch.”  _ He gave a tiny laugh and Vein nodded.  _ “Finally they just let me inside.” _

 

Thunder boomed, shaking the shelves and making the candles flicker, Vein looked up at the ceiling as dust fluttered down from between the floorboards. He could hear his friends in the garage, whistling and clapping at the storm. Glass smiled, fully this time,  _ “Now I kind of want to see the storm.” _

 

“Me too.” Vein laughed loudly and they both made their way past the shelves of creepy dolls and piles of ugly stuffed animals. Glass, at one point, pushed Vein towards a large clown doll, trying to trip him up. Vein stumbled forward and turned to push him back, confused, and hesitated when he saw the big smile on his red face. Vein pushed him back and ran the rest of the way to the garage.

 

They both entered the garage both panting and smiling. Mona Lisa yelled, “Hey! Young Vein, you gotta check this storm out man!” Green Man dug through a cooler and tossed Vein a can of pop. Vein turned to offer it to Glass, but the Wave Head was already making his way to the front of the garage.

 

Glass stood at the very edge of the garage where Acid Rain was coming down in sheets. “Hey man,” Mona Lisa said tentatively, “Be careful, that shit will make you melt.”

 

Lightning leaned back against the wall of the garage, watching Glass through lidded eyes.

 

_ “Hey,”  _ Glass pointed into the storm,  _ “Do you see that?” _

 

Vein stepped forward next to Glass, “Yeah, what is that?” In the distance, a white truck swerved through the wet sand, the paint on the sides melting off from the rain. You could just barely see the smiling BLi logo on the side, burned through with five tally marks. “Is that BLi or did someone steal-” He was interrupted by a large honk coming from the front of the building.

 

They all exchanged glances and made their way to the source of the noise at the entrance to the Shithole. They joined Brobeck and Baby Snake on the porch, Glass stood in the entrance, hiding behind the screen door.

 

The wind shook the many wind chimes and rain pounded on the roof, The OPEN for BITCHES sign flickered happily.

 

In front of them, standing in front of an ugly canvassed truck, was a thin man and a heavy set woman in a floral dress stood under a thin, rickety umbrella. The thin man was leaning against the woman and holding his side as if he had gotten shot straight through. He smiled in spite of his obvious pain. He faced Baby Snake, who at the moment looked to be in charge, standing in front of Brobeck protectively. Or as protective as you can be towards a man who towered over everyone.

 

The thin man smiled wide and creepy. “Well hi stranger!” His voice held nothing but contempt and fake cheer, along with an annoying southern accent. “I have got a lovely business deal that I would love to close with you!” 

 

Young Vein looked towards his group, and they nodded, and at once, the Danger Blues pulled their masks over their eyes.

 

_ “That's the ideal meeting...once upon a time, only once, unexpectedly, then never again.”  _

_ ―  _ _ Helen Oyeyemi _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new favorite chapter even though it's filler! (kind of) hope you liked it! and sorry it's so short


	15. Nerve

 

_ “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”  _

_ ―  _ _ Marcel Proust _

 

Brobeck stood behind Baby Snake as the truck pulled forward, and everyone from inside joined them. He wondered what was in the truck, excited, he tapped his fingers on his thigh, trying to see past the ugly man and his torn umbrella.

 

It could be merchandise from the city, or artifacts buried in sand and dust, or  _ expensive rugs. _

 

_ Expensive Rugs, Tea Sets, and Old Photographs. _

 

He wanted to see, he wanted to  _ see. _

 

He pushes on Baby Snakes shoulder and bites his lip, who stops him with one swift move and shakes his head. Around him, Young Vein, The Green Man, and Mona Lisa all slip their masks over their faces.

 

It reminds him that they are not just normal people, they are Killjoys, rebels,  _ dangerous. _

 

The ugly man is talking to Baby Snake, ignoring Brobeck and the rest of his friends. The even uglier woman behind him glares at them, throwing Brobeck mean looks and staring at the graffiti on the walls of the Shithole. 

 

Brobeck decides he  _ hates  _ her.

 

The truck would have to wait, unfortunately, as two men jumped out of the back and quickly shut it. They seemed unaware of the Acid rain currently pounding down onto their skin. They exchanged words and walked around to the left side of the building.

 

Brobeck watched them with his eyes and tapped Crash on the shoulder and whispered in his ear,  _ “Follow them and see what they do, I don’t want them touching my stuff.”  _ Crash looked at him almost confused and Brobeck hoped he didn’t sound rude. But Crash nodded and grabbed Secret Lover, leaving Lightning with the rest of them as they followed the two men. 

 

Brobeck looked back into the Shithole through the screen door to see Glass, who stood in the entryway with wide and shaking hands. He made eye contact with Brobeck and beckoned him inside with his eyes flicking between Brobeck and to the space behind him. Brobeck nodded.

 

He squeezed past Mona Lisa, who stared questioningly through his maroon mask, before joining him inside.

 

“The truck coming from the back isn’t stopping, and I don’t know if- Brendon began, Brobeck quickly interrupted him.

 

“What?!” Brobeck looked at Mona Lisa, “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

 

“We were going to,” Mona Lisa gestured to the front door, “But there were other, more pressing stuff to deal with.”

 

“What if they’re connected to them?” Glass asked, glancing at the rest of the group through the screen door, “I’m getting a bad feeling about all of this…”

 

Brobeck could only think about the truck, and the trailer might be concealing, but he said, “Then we say hi,” He smiled at Glass, who looked uneasy and was scratching at his peeling skin. “With a side of caution, I guess… Hey, Mona, do you have your gun?”   
  


Mona Lisa patted his sides, “No, fuck, I left it in the Ford.” Brobeck shook his head and leaned over the counter and reached for the shelf under the registry.

 

“It’s fine, we can use Baby Snake’s just in case,” His voice was muffled and his feet kicked the air as he tried to balance on the counter, “But I don’t know how much juice is in it.”

 

“They had the BLi logo on their truck,” Glass’s voice seemed to almost disappear by the end of the sentence, “What if they are BLi?”

 

“It’s probably just some ‘joys that stole a truck.” Mona Lisa put his hand on Glass’s shoulder. Brobeck smiled, trying to comfort him.

 

“It’s gonna be fine!” Then he led the way back to the garage.

 

The white truck came to a halt as they all entered and Brobeck licked his lips as he tried to see through the tinted windshield. Mona Lisa dug through the glove compartment of his Road Ranger and led the way to the front of the garage, pointing his ray gun in front of him as a boy with black hair nearly fell from the passenger side.

 

“Woah, woah! Hey, stop!” Mona Lisa shouted and the boy reeled backwards and dug at the back of his tight jeans, pulling out a dusty looking gun and pointing it their direction and trying to shield his face from the rain at the same time.

 

The driver came out and froze in his tracks, Glass did the same as the standoff began. Brobeck hit the gun out of Mona Lisa’s hand and he could hear the Killjoy give a tiny squeak from the back of his throat as it hit the wall. “Dude!” Brobeck set his own ray gun on the floor.

 

“Please!” Brobeck yelled, “No fighting, in my Shithole! Please!”

 

The driver crossed slowly to the other side of the truck, where his friend stood holding his gun in front of himself, shaking. He pushed the gun down slowly, along with pulling down his pale yellow mask down onto his neck. “Are you the owner?” He asked. “Baby Snake?”

 

Brobeck frowned, “No!” He couldn’t help but glance at the trailer to the truck, “I’m Brobeck, the  _ real  _ owner, what do you have in your truck?”

 

The driver blinked, “Uh, just some boxes I guess? Can we come in? The acid rain is starting to sting.”

 

“Yeah, but bring the boxes.”

 

Two more men came from the trailer, one dressed in red, and the other in a dusty button down. The driver called to them, “Hey, Horseshoe! Can you grab some of those boxes?”   
  
The man in red looked confused for a second then tapped the one in white on the shoulder, indicating he would need help, then they brought the boxes to the garage. One let out a  _ clink _ as it hit the cement and Brobeck smiled excitedly and sat cross legged among the boxes.

 

The man in the yellow mask stared for a moment before turning to Mona Lisa, the feathers on the mask seemed to flutter in the dim light.

 

_ Nothing in the first box except three packing peanuts. _

 

“I’m Dr. Benzedrine.”

 

“Mona Lisa,” They shook hands, “And that’s Glass.”

 

“These guys are Horseshoe Crab, Black Card, and Racetraitor.”

 

_ Second Box.  _

 

“Have you had any… weird people, stop by?” Dr. Benzedrine asked, and Mona Lisa tilted his head.

 

“What kind of weird people?”

 

_ Jars! Empty jars to put stuff in.  _

 

_ Third box. _

 

“A real skinny guy, probably with his mom…” Horseshoe Crab described. “They’re probably driving a truck.”

 

“Actually yeah…” Mona Lisa frowned, “They’re here now.”

 

_ More jars! Some filled with a red gooey substance.  _

 

Brobeck smiles.

 

_ Canned tomatoes. _

 

Dr. Benzedrine and Horseshoe Crab exchanged glances. “Listen,” Dr. Benzedrine said “They’re not who they say they are-”

 

“Oh I know,” Mona Lisa interrupted, “I got chills the second I saw them.”

 

Glass tapped Brobeck on the shoulder, “Hey, you might want to hear this.” Brobeck looked up at him, then nodded.

 

“Okay.” He stood and smiled as Dr. Benzedrine eyes went wide over their difference in height. Horseshoe Crab was the first to recover.

 

“Okay, so they came to your door… what are they asking for?”

 

Brobeck thought about it for a second, “Something about storage space for a day or two, and privacy? I don’t remember.”

 

“They might want a place to burn them then, since they lost half of the bodies already thanks to Sixx.” Dr. Benzedrine turned to talk to his group but Mona stopped them.

 

“Wait, wait, wait,  _ bodies?”  _ He leaned forward, stressed, “What are you talking about? Why do they want to burn bodies?”

 

Dr. Benzedrine straightened himself to his full height, which wasn’t very tall anyway, and gave them all a very serious look, “The man and his mother out there are members of a cult who worship an old killjoy named Mr. Brightside. They think that by burning hundreds of bodies they can summon him and destroy BLi, but they’re ruining lives, digging up bodies and even stealing them.”

 

Black Card came forward, “They’re even in the city, recruiting people and causing a lot of innocent people to get caught in the crossfire. They  _ need  _ to be stopped.”

 

“Well,” Brobeck stared down at his canned tomatoes, “How do you know? I can’t just go and blame people for something based on a guess.”

 

Black Card and Dr. Benzedrine exchanged glances and Benzedrine sucked in a breath, “We look in the truck, if you want proof, we have to see what’s in the truck.” Brobeck nodded and picked up a jar of canned tomatoes.

 

“You stay here with them,” Brobeck said to Mona, “I’m going to get Baby Snake.” Mona Lisa nodded and Brobeck turned back into the Shithole, he could hear voices coming from the kitchen, rumbling low as the Acid Rain died down.

 

He entered as the thin southern man laughed about something, clapping his hands together and Lightning smiled wide at the joke he had just made. 

 

In two corners of the room, The Green Man and Young Vein leaned against the walls, their masks pulled over their faces, staring down at the southern man and his mother. The southern man seemed not to notice, but his mother glanced between them with a permanent sour expression.

 

“Hey Brobeck,” Baby Snake waved, and Brobeck smiled, gesturing for him to follow.

 

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

 

The southern man frowned a little, his smile still ever-present. Baby Snake tilted his head, “Is something wrong?”

 

Before Brobeck could answer, Secret Lover and Crash came through the door, hauling the two men from earlier behind them.

 

“We finally caught them trying to get into the basement through the outside!” Secret Lover nearly growled. Baby Snake stood defensively.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

The Southern Man stood with him, his smile turning into a sneer. “Allow me to apologize for my two colleagues, who obviously don’t respect privacy as much as you do, Mister Baby Snake. Now Disashi, Johnny, what do you say?”

 

The one called Disashi meekly said: “Sorry,” but Johnny merely huffed through his nose. 

 

“If you’ll excuse me Mister Baby Snake, I would like to speak with them in private, it would give you time to talk with your partner.”

 

“Oh,” Baby Snake turned back to Brobeck, “Well, thanks.”

 

Secret Lover smiled and grabbed both Crash and Lightning around their arms, “We’ll leave you guys alone.” She then pulled them both outside towards their truck, where it rested under a stained, white sheet.

 

The Acid Rain slowed to a drizzled.

 

Brobeck pulled Baby Snake along, nervously checking over his shoulder, Baby Snake talked all the way. “Did you know they’re paying us three hundred carbons for two nights to keep their junk? Three hundred carbons! I could buy my grandmother back to life with that kind of glitter! Hey, where did you get those tomatoes?” Brobeck stopped him.

 

“I don’t think you can take the carbons.”

 

“What?” Baby Snake pushed away in disbelief, “Why not? We need these carbons, Brobeck! It will help the garage and you can all the merchandise you want from the city and all those desert vendors…” His expression grew worried.

 

“I just…” Brobeck looked in the direction of the garage, “Can you please just come with me?”

 

“What is it?” Baby Snake followed, “What happened, Brobeck?”

 

Brobeck didn’t have to answer once they entered the garage.

 

Dr. Benzedrine stepped forward, “Are you Baby Snake?”

 

“Yeah, who are you?”

 

“Dr. Benzedrine,” They shook hands, “You have a guest here? Southern accent, his mom follows him around?”

 

Baby Snake nodded, “Yeah he calls himself Mr.Brightside,” Dr. Benzedrine and Horseshoe Crab exchanged glances.

 

Black Card rolled his eyes and pushed forward, “There’s bodies in his truck, okay? He’s a cult leader and he steals dead bodies to summon a demon!” Baby Snake shook his head, incredulous.

 

“There’s no way, do you know how many carbons he’s offering for two nights of storage space!?” 

 

“Unfortunately the deal is off.” A cheerful southern voice came from the entrance to the garage, and they all swung around to face him. There, the southern man stood with a ray gun poised to fire, smiling like a maniac. “I knew somethin’ was up… All I asked for was some privacy.”

 

“Shit!” Black Card yelled, and Racetraitor, who had been extremely quiet from where he had been sitting with Glass, stood, ready for a fight. The rest of them grabbed for their ray-guns.

 

“Oh no, no, no, stop right there or I will shoot you all.” The Southern Man swung his gun around wildly and they all took a step back, “Why hello there, golden eyes,” He smiled, pointing the gun towards Dr. Benzedrine. “I had hoped we would meet again.” Brobeck watched as Dr. Benzedrine expression grew angrier and angrier, and Horseshoe grabbed his arm, his face contorting in fear.

 

“Put it down,” Young Vein appeared behind him, “Put the gun down, and leave.” The Green Man came from the other side of the building, nodding in agreement. Brobeck glanced down at the jar in the jar in his hand. The tomatoes inside were slightly brown from rot. 

 

The Southern Man smiled. His mother came from nowhere, beating The Green Man on the back of the head with a baseball bat.

 

_ Louisville Slugger, kept by the front desk in case of intruders. _

 

Mona Lisa yelled, “Jon!”

 

Brobeck took one more glance at the tomato jar, then threw it at the Southern Man. It hit the top of the garage door frame and glass and slightly rotten tomato rained down on him, causing him to drop the ray gun and spit red from his mouth. Brobeck yelled, “Scatter!”

 

Unfortunately, they didn’t. They all clambered into the Shithole, taking refuge among the shelves, and making Brobeck worry about the more fragile things in his clutter.

 

The Southern Man’s friends, Disashi and Johnny met them inside, throwing Brobeck’s stuff.

 

_ China plates, broken toys, candles, pots, EVERYTHING. _

 

_ “MY STUFF!”  _ Brobeck yelled in anguish as Dr. Benzedrine, Horseshoe Crab, Black Card, Mona Lisa, and Young Vein attempted to shoot them out of the air.

 

Disashi hid behind shelves, throwing light, small stuff, running away from any confrontation. But Johnny stood in front, yelling for a fight and throwing chairs and big lawn ornaments until Racetraitor met him with a punch to the throat.

 

Brobeck hid behind a shelf of road signs with Baby Snake and Glass, his hands held over his ears, yelling: “Stop throwing my stuff!” Baby Snake put one hand on both of their shoulders, making them move every time the Southern Man’s mother stalked them around the shelves, wielding the Louisville Slugger. 

 

Every once in awhile, they could hear The Southern Man laugh, yelling, “Come and get me golden eyes! Let me set you free!”

 

Ray gun blasts started to sound far away as they came closer to the kitchen. Secret Lover crashed in through the screen door and her friends followed, “What the fuck is going on?” She yelled. Before they could answer her, she ran towards the rest of the commotion along with Crash and Lightning.

 

They found themselves at the front desk, with Baby Snake fruitlessly searching for his gun, which Brobeck remembers, embarrassingly, leaving it in the garage. Glass pulled a heavy ceramic toad off the ground holding it like a weapon. 

 

“Um, Snake…” Brobeck started, wanting to point out his mistake.

 

Then the mother was there.

 

Beating Glass senseless.

 

Brobeck remembers Baby Snake throwing the bell on the front desk at her as she hit Glass over the head with the Slugger. It beaned her on the back of her head and only made her angrier and then Brobeck screams at her  _ stop hurting my friends. _

 

_ THROAT. _

 

_ OLD LADY. _

 

_ HANDS. _

 

_ CHOKING. _

 

_ Baby Snake screams, “DALLON!” _

 

When Baby Snake pulls him off, he is sweating and hot and angry and his heart is beating fast. Too fast.

 

Brobeck takes stock of his surroundings.

 

_ Glass, bloody and beaten. _

 

_ Louisville Slugger. _

 

_ Baby Snake. _

 

_ Dead old lady. _

 

_ Dead old lady’s son. _

 

_ Ray guns. _

 

_ Dr. Benzedrine. _

 

_ Tears, falling from cheeks. _

 

_ Road signs. _

 

_ Small trinkets, hanging from the ceiling. _

 

_ Cracked ceramic frog. _

 

The Southern Man yelled curses and pointed fingers at Brobeck, revenge, golden eyes, too much, mama. Everything seemed to come from far away. The Southern Man ran to his truck, leaving his mother and Disashi and Johnny behind and Brobeck could see the body bags in the trailer.

 

No expensive rugs to be found.

 

Secret Lover said: “Patrick?”

 

_ “I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light.”  _

_ ―  _ _ Helen Keller _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot and procrastination is strong in this chapter! I hope you liked it!
> 
> Shout out to my mom who can can tomatoes anywhere, anytime and not break a sweat


	16. Demigods

 

_“Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.”_

_―_ _Maya Angelou_

 

Hayley had stormed to the upstairs bedrooms in a flurry of swear words and disbelief, most of it aimed towards Patrick.

 

Crash could only give him shocked glances as him and Lightning dragged her off so she couldn’t land a furious punch on Patrick’s face. She was now brooding upstairs and Lightning stayed behind to shoot him appraising looks.

 

He tried to explain, he really did, but no words came except a meek: “Sorry?”

 

“SORRY?” Hayley screamed, “YOU’RE SORRY?! YOU WERE SHOT IN THE FUCKING FACE AND YOU’RE SORRY?! I SHOULD GHOST YOU RIGHT NOW YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” Lightning fixed him a dark stare and led her away, kicking and screaming.

 

He turned his attention towards the Wave Head, Glass, who groaned and spit blood.

 

Baby Snake and Black Card dragged Disashi and Johnny to the kitchen and Patrick set up shop there. He explained to Baby Snake that he was a Death Tech, even if he himself still didn’t think so, and asked if they had any first aid kits.

 

Baby Snake tried to make a joke and said, “We have like, twelve.” His hasty smile disappeared when he looked towards Brobeck, who was leaned against the wall next to Glass, staring straight ahead.

 

Patrick started on Glass, who winced no matter where Patrick placed a hand or wet rag.

 

Water seemed to sizzle on his sunburnt skin.

 

He wrapped Glass in bandages and gave him water to drink, but there wasn’t much else he could except pray that the sun may one day loosen its grip on him. He almost wanted to ask him about the electrical burns that raced up his fingers and down his arms, but Glass avoided his gaze when he saw them.

 

Disashi and Johnny were a different story.

 

Disashi sat quietly, wringing his hands and accepting Patrick’s help bandaging the few cuts he had received during the fight. Since he had stayed under the cover of the shelves and cooperated when they caught him, his injuries were few and far between. Patrick wondered if he was like Ben, forced to fight for a cause he didn’t believe in.

 

Johnny, on the other hand, had to be tied up, and subsequently gagged as spit and spewed curses at them. He had been beaten badly by Racetraitor, who spared no strength in sending them both to the floor, wrestling like dogs. Both his eyes were swollen, his lip split, and his skin alight with a rainbow of colorful bruises. He stared at Patrick through purple eyelids scathingly, but did not resist when Patrick cleaned his wounds.

 

Patrick wondered if Racetraitor looked the same way, full of bruises and welts, or if the almost supernatural amount of strength he possessed had somehow protected him.

 

He dabbed some water on Johnny’s swollen eye and Johnny lunged towards him, not enough for Patrick to be afraid, but so he would perceive it as a threat.

 

Patrick had to be done, _now,_ no more playing Death Tech on Johnny.

 

He left the kitchen, to follow Baby Snake to the garage. Where Black Card and Racetraitor would be waiting. Horseshoe Crab had resigned himself to some dark corner of the Shithole to take a nap.

 

Lightning grabbed his arm on the way out and gave him a light shove towards one of the shelves. “So who are you?” He asked, “I know that Secret thinks you’re the real deal, but there’s no way, the Patrick I know was ghosted, shot in the fucking face. So I’m giving you one fucking chance to come clean, alright? I don’t need some fucking BLi drone impersonating-” He shoved Patrick a little harder, making him collide with the shelf behind him, “-One of _my_ friends.”

 

“Look, Taylor,” He used Lightning’s real name so he was sure he would believe him, “It is me, okay? I’m _not a BLi drone._ It really is me, I don’t-” He cut himself off before he could say: _I don’t know how to explain it._

 

Because he could.

 

He could say that it was the Phoenix Witch. Who raised him from the literal fucking dust, his skin the color of ash as he stumbled through the storm, trying to regain feeling in his limbs as the hole in his forehead healed. He could say he cried blood and his eyes had burned every time lightning struck.

 

He didn’t.

 

He removed his mask instead. “It’s me Taylor, you have to believe me.”

 

Taylor backed away, his face full of anger and unbelief.

 

Patrick made his way back towards the garage. Angry at himself, frustrated at everything. The walls seemed to close in around him and he could barely breath.

 

He had almost lost control when the Southern Man showed his face, smiling and calling ‘goldeneyes’. Horseshoe had an iron grip on his arm almost the entire time, shaking with fear.

 

_What is happening to me?_

 

Black Card gave him the smallest of smiles as he entered the garage.

 

Baby Snake was tucked under the cherry convertible, grunting as he took his emotions out on the car.

 

Racetraitor sat on a slightly grimy footstool, clutching his hands, which shook has he pushed his thumbs into his palms. His knuckles were bloody and the edges of his nails were red with dried blood. His cheeks were swollen and bruises dotted his skin, but less so than Johnny.

 

Patrick wondered if Racetraitor considered it a victory, or a loss.

 

His hands continued to shake until Patrick gently grabbed them in his own, kneeling down and slowly wrapping his knuckles. The shaking transferred to the rest of Racetraitor’s body until he began to twitch, his breathing went uneven as Patrick dabbed a wet cloth over his eyes.

 

“Are you okay?” Patrick let up with the cloth.

 

“Yes,” Racetraitor answered, “Thank you for this.” He  gestured to his wrapped fists then promptly left the garage. Patrick stood to watch him go.

 

“He’s just so…” Black Card tried to elaborate as Racetraitor left their line of site. “I don’t know. Strange? I don’t get him at all, I mean, he does something crazy and awesome like what he did to Johnny… But then ten seconds later he’s just closed off, then he’ll say something really shitty and profound? It’s just…” He trailed off and Patrick wanted to say something shitty and profound to make sense of the whole thing.

 

Instead he said: “We should find him a new shirt.”

 

“Yeah,” Black Card kicked at the ground, “Or at least something better than that BLi crap.”

 

Patrick looked up at him, “You have a cut on your cheek.”

 

“Oh,” Black Card touched both his cheeks, trying to find the cut, “Where?”

 

* * *

 

Mona Lisa had employed the help of Young Vein to remove the mother’s body from the Shithole. It had been his first priority after the fight had ended and Patrick got the impression he was extremely superstitious.

 

The Green Man had tried to help, shaking off the bump in his head as if it was nothing. He had only been unconscious for a few seconds, but now he spoke slowly and as he tried to stand he stumbled forward and nearly threw up onto the sand outside the garage.

 

“Whoa,” Patrick sat him back down and leaned him against the wall, “You are not going anywhere for a while.”

 

“But-” Patrick cut him off and asked Black Card to watch him.

 

“If he falls asleep, wake him every hour, or something close.”

 

Black Card nodded, glad to be helping, and Patrick left the garage. He stepped over Baby Snake legs and almost wanted to say something. Should he really be working on his car? Or should he be with Brobeck?

 

Again, he didn’t.

 

Now Mona Lisa was attempting to drag the mother’s body outside, saying they couldn’t leave her sickness to pollute the home. Most of the advice had apparently come from his mother, who Patrick could imagine cloaked in robes and clicking animal bones together to ward off evil spirits. She could even have chimes hanging on her porch, just like the Shithole.

 

“But she probably wasn’t sick,” Young Vein insisted, looking tired but not yet annoyed with Mona, “Can we please just rest a little?”

 

“Not sick in the _body,”_ Mona stressed, obviously quoting his mother again, “ _The mind,_ It will seep through the floorboards and make the wood sick, and-”

 

“Sick wood makes a sick home makes sick people, _I know.”_ Young Vein recited, looking dead on his feet.

 

“Here, Young Vein,” Patrick stepped forward, “I’ll help him, you take a nap or something.”

 

“Fucking Shiny,” Vein yawned, “Thanks.”

 

Patrick picked up the mother by her feet and Mona followed with the arms and they dragged her outside. Mona told him they could burn her or bury her as they lifted her over small hills of sand, taking her as far away from the Shithole as they felt safe.

 

Patrick couldn’t think of burning her, burning flesh was something he smelled in his dreams, or nightmares.

 

Mona told him he didn’t have to stick around, probably sensing his discomfort.

 

Crash met him under the _OPEN for BITCHES_ sign, wringing his hands and shifting from foot to foot.

 

“Look,” He started, “I know Lightning doesn’t believe you’re you but… I do, I don’t know how, or why, but…”

 

Patrick got the message, “Thank you.”

 

Crash nodded, grim and focused, “...But... _How?_ Patrick, you were shot in the _face-”_

 

“I can explain, but I want Hayley to hear it.”

 

“She’s upstairs,” Crash rubbed the back of his head, “I doubt she even wants to see you.”

 

Patrick sighed, “She has to, _I_ have to, to explain this whole thing.”

 

Crash resigned and led him back inside, then up the pull down stairs to the second floor.

 

Hayley met him with her mask over her face, eyes narrow and angry. “What is he doing up here?” She spoke only to Crash, Lightning leaned against the wall amidst a sea of stuffed animals. Patrick stepped forward.

 

“I’m here to explain-”

 

“I didn’t ask you to _explain!”_ Hayley stomped her foot, she had gotten new boots. “I saw you get shot in the face, but for some reason, that wasn't true!”

 

Crash started forward, “Hayley-”

 

“Shut up!” She turned to Patrick again, “Did you know we prayed for you? So Destroya would welcome you, and you fake your death-”

 

“I didn’t fake-!” Patrick stopped himself, feeling the heat in his chest, Hayley clenched her fists and made like she was going to hit him, “I remember, Hayley! I remember dying!” She took a step back, surprised, and Lightning stood up from the wall. Patrick sucked in a breath, “I woke up and… it was sunny, then… _she_ was there.”

 

“Destroya?” Hayley breathed.

 

“The Phoenix Witch,” Patrick remembered her black, feathered gown, sweeping the ground, and her golden jewelry reflecting the sun. “She spoke to me, she said I needed to rest… but, then she said I had Destroya’s favor, then I woke up. Please Hayley, please don’t be angry, I’m _so sorry-”_

 

“Stop apologizing,” She wrapped her arms around herself, “I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at me.”

 

Crash stared down at his hands and whispered, “This is all my fault.”

 

“We should have known!” Hayley looked up at him, eyes full of tears, “We should have gone back for you!”

 

“Hayley, there’s no way you could have predicted this happening!”

 

“But I should have known! I should have…. felt something!”

 

“Didn’t you hear me?” Crash raised his voice, “This is my fault!” Lightning shook his head.

 

“Crash-”

 

“No, Taylor, this is _our_ fault, this whole clusterfuck is our fault!” Crash’s breathing went heavy, “ _We_ saw the Dracs, _we_ saw the Scarecrow, and we _didn’t do anything._ We should have known they were after Zone 5, but we didn’t care!” Patrick frowned.

 

“Jeremy, what-”

 

“We didn’t care, Patrick! Not at first anyway…” Crash looked ashamed, shifting his weight until he finally crumpled to the ground, sitting cross legged amid Brobeck’s collection. “We saw the Dracs way before… and we knew they were heading to Zone 5…” Lightning hid his face in his hands. “And we looked at each other and said... we said: Fuck ‘em.”

 

Hayley stared open-mouthed, “Then… then what made you come back?”

 

Lightning sighed, “We got one of your letters.”

 

“Letters?” Patrick asked.

 

Hayley looked at the floor, “Sometimes I would sneak out and… you know that car graveyard? The one west of our village?” Patrick nodded, “Well, past that is this cluster of mailboxes, and sometimes people would show up and check them, so I told them to deliver my letters, just around the desert where they might find them.”

 

“We were looting some old motel,” Lightning said, “And Crash looked in the mailboxes by the front desk and it was just… there. It must have been old because you wrote about how Patrick was just starting a medical service.”

 

“I said we had to go back then and there,” Crash said, his head in his hands. “This is all our fault…”

 

* * *

 

Patrick and Hayley sat against the wall in Baby Snakes room, silent and staring ahead at the small stacks of books he kept.

 

Some were bound together with string and tape, pages were folded and worn and some were even falling out of their binding. Patrick could could almost imagine them folding and flying away like birds, lifting into the sky as if their paper, word filled bodies were meant to be there.

 

“I do have some good news,” Patrick said, Hayley didn’t respond. “Ben is alive.”

 

“Oh,” Hayley smiled, “Thank Destroya.” She didn’t ask where he was.

 

Patrick leaned back against the wall. Crash and Lightning had since left downstairs, and Patrick was okay with that. He didn’t want to be angry, but he couldn’t even look at Crash or Lightning without feeling slightly betrayed.

 

He felt like someone had lit a match in his head, it could either burn out, or start a blaze that would destroy everything in its wake.

 

“We’ve been tracking information about the Scarecrow.” Hayley said, and Patrick jumped in surprise.

 

“You have?”

 

Hayley nodded, “We haven’t found much though, Dr. D couldn’t give us much except an old BLi drone that got free, said she had been working for them since even before the Wars and worked in the science and development branch.”

 

“He didn’t tell you where she could be?”

 

She shrugged, “He didn’t know, the last time he had seen her was eight  years ago, called herself the Celluloid Hero back then.”

 

Patrick was silent for a moment, “... We’ll find something, we have to.”

 

They both agreed, but they weren’t hopeful, the spark that usually inhabited Hayley’s eyes had vacated, leaving something cold and empty behind.

 

She leaned back, closing her eyes, “I miss Aladdin.”

 

Patrick nodded, “He disappeared after the fight… I’d rather he be dead though, than captured by BL/ind.”

 

She smiled again, sad this time, “Fuck, I used to hate him,” opening her eyes, they reflected the setting sun blazing through the window. “He would give me shitty advice whenever he saw me… I would hate him for it, I thought I knew everything.”

 

Patrick gave her a tiny laugh and hummed his agreement, “We couldn’t tell you anything… Probably still can’t.”

 

Hayley smiled and continued, “I remember once, when my mom got sick, I thought she was gonna die… so I just, ignored her. I thought the sick would go away if I just didn’t let it be real. Then Aladdin asks me why I wasn’t talking to her and I gave some bullshit excuse… He told me something really crappy like: _You can’t solve a problem by letting it be,_ or something polka-dotty like that.”

 

Patrick thought for a moment, then stood and stretched.

 

“Where are you going?” Hayley made no attempt to follow.

 

“I gotta do something,” Then he made his way downstairs with Hayley yelling after him.

 

“Do what!? Patrick!”

 

He stomped into the garage, noticing Black Card and The Green Man had since left, leaving Baby Snake alone, messing with his car.

 

Patrick grabbed Baby Snake’s legs and pulled him out from under the car, “Hey, hey, hey!” He protested, dropping a wrench and looking at Patrick like he was crazy.

 

Patrick crossed his arms over his chest and said as firm as he could: “You need to talk to Brobeck.”

 

_“Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.”_

_―_ _Oscar Wilde_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's still hope.
> 
> This has got to be my favorite chapter, not because it's action packed or anything, but it was just nice to get to know everyone a little better 
> 
> Shoutout to bottlefullofarsenic for making some kickass fanart! follow her on tumblr and send her all the love!


	17. Doubt

 

_“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”_

_―_ _C.S. Lewis_ _,_ _A Grief Observed_

 

He remembers… his hands….

 

_Wake up._

 

Tired.

 

Sand.

 

His hands-fingers…. Raw…

 

Pounding at the door. _Open open open_ **_open PLEASE._ **

 

_Stop._

 

Someone had pulled him off.

 

Tried to.

 

More sand.

 

_Tyler!_

 

It covers him like a blanket.

 

Warm, welcoming.

 

**_sleep forever, under the sand_ **

 

It hugs him like his mother, never ending.

 

_No._

 

_Stop._

 

_STOP IT SHUT UP._

 

**_stay_ **

 

_JENNA._

 

Air rushes to his lungs, cold and wet.

 

He is buried, in the dark, dark, wet sand.

 

_JOSH._

 

Wet sand clings to his skin, scraping, itching.

 

He _can’t breath._

 

He digs his hands upward, making sand rain down on his face, into his mouth and nose and ears.

 

It whispers.

 

**_stay_ **

 

He yells, “Josh!” He coughs, “Help me! Josh!”

 

He digs.

 

And digs, and pushes and digs.

 

And digs.

 

The sun explodes through the dark.

 

His eyes hurt. He breaths.

 

He curls into a ball, wet sand still clings to him.

 

It doesn’t say anything this time.

 

He wants to cry, but there is nothing left.

 

“Josh?” He whispers, his body shakes as he climbs out of his hole.

 

“Josh?” He says louder, he can’t stand.

 

“Josh!” He digs, sweeping sand away, crawling back and forth in the heat. “JOSH!”

 

He coughs.

 

“JO-josh!” He coughs and spits.

 

His hand hits something.

 

A finger, covered in dust.

 

He digs around it.

 

A hand.

 

He pulls.

 

Nothing.

 

He digs more.

 

_The door._

 

He stops.

 

_Where is the door?_

 

He shakes. The sand swirls in the wind, around Josh’s hand.

 

**_yes, where is the door?_ **

 

The sand is talking, not whispering, he is crazy.

 

Sand swirls and piles once again around Josh’s hand.

 

**_not here_ **

 

**_it’s under me, buried, find it, under us_ **

 

The sand blows around him, scratching at his face.

 

He wants to.

 

He wants to go back under, he turns back towards his hole.

 

_NO!_

 

Sand doesn’t speak, not to him.

 

He turns back to Josh and ignores the angry bits of sand that hit him, trying to bury him.

 

An arm.

 

Sand doesn’t whisper, or talk, or even **scream in his ears.**

 

Incoherent.

 

He pulls, and _pulls._

 

It moves.

 

The sand stops it’s angry feast on his skin and falls to the ground.

 

Still in his hair, still beat into his skin.

 

“Josh?” He can only whisper.

 

He digs more and more and more and more.

 

There is sand in his hair and under his eyes, stuck to his skin and clothes, and Tyler pulls him out out _out_ of the sand.

 

It doesn’t speak again.

 

He loses more hope, he cannot find the door, and he cannot find Jenna.

 

Josh mumbles, “bury...sand….” Tyler shakes his head.

 

“No.”

 

His throat scratches, he tries to stand again.

 

He does.

 

He grabs Josh by his arm and pulls him around his shoulders.

 

Josh is unconscious and will not stand on his own. So he leans against Tyler.

 

He tries to walk.

 

He trips.

 

_Water._

 

He will lead them back to the city, try to get back in.

 

He will find Jenna.

 

He walks.

 

And walks.

 

And walks

 

And walks.

 

And trips.

 

And walks.

 

Josh groans.

 

And walks.

 

His breathing is heavy, he needs water.

 

_Water._

 

The sun beats down.

 

He hears a growling in the distance.

 

It stops, then starts again.

 

He drops Josh.

 

He doesn’t notice.

 

He drops to his knees, and then his chest, and closes his eyes. He tries not to think about the voice from the sand.

 

The growling gets closer and closer, until it is upon him.

 

It stops.

 

He falls asleep.

 

It starts again.

 

* * *

 

 

_Wake up._

 

No, no. Not now.

 

_That’s okay._

 

He wakes up anyway.

 

On the floor, under a blanket.

 

It is not his room, but that’s okay.

 

“You’re awake,” A smiling voice says, it has big, wispy hair and a kind face.

 

He replies, “Yes…” He looks down at his hands, “Am I?”

 

“Yeah, don’t worry,” The voice smiles more, “Your friend is still asleep though,” He points to another bed on the floor. Josh sleeps soundly, the sand cleaned from his face. “I gave you both some water, but you should drink some more,” He pointed to a glass next to Tyler.

 

He took it and drank, it hit his mouth and felt like heaven, if heaven could exist, it was water.

 

He drank it too fast, and it was gone too fast.

 

“I’m Jet, by the way,” The voice, Jet, held out a hand, “Jet Star.”

 

“Tyler,” He shook Jet Star’s hand. “Can I have more water?”

 

“Of course,” Jet Star topped off his glass, then turned to Josh and put a wet rag to his forehead.

 

He watched, wanting Josh to wake up, he wanted to yell.

 

Instead he said: “I heard someone talking, out in the desert.”

 

“You could have been hallucinating,” Jet Star reasoned.

 

“It was like the sand was talking,” He persisted, “But I know sand doesn’t talk.”

 

Jet Star paused, then turned back to Tyler, “No, I guess it doesn’t… Can I see your hands?”

 

He held out his hands, they were covered in bandages he hadn’t noticed before. Jet Star began to unwrap them, and replace them.

 

“Why would I hallucinate sand talking?”

 

“I guess... there’s no limit to the stuff you can see when you’re hitting your own red line.” Jet Star avoided Tyler’s gaze, “What were you doing out in Zone 6 anyway? Didn’t you hear about the sandstorm?”

 

“I…” He doesn’t know what to say. He was led here, betrayed. “I made a mistake.”

 

Jet Star flashes him a look, “Everyone does at some point, now you have the chance to fix it.”

 

Josh groans and stretches from where he lays on the ground, squeezing his eyes shut. Tyler leans towards him, wanting to reach out and apologize, even though he doesn’t know why.

 

Jet Star goes instead, greeting Josh with a soft smile and offering water.

 

Josh’s eyes meet his before anything, then he asks Jet Star: “Who are you?”

 

“Jet Star, nice to meet you.” He holds out a hand, which Josh takes cautiously.

 

“How long was I out?”

 

“About two days, but you didn’t miss anything important.” Jet Star stands and stretches his back, “You’re pretty lucky that storm didn’t last longer or you might have been buried forever.”

 

He shivered, thinking about the voice.

 

Jet Star leaves them both with water, “Come to the front when you get your strength back up.” He leaves to another room.

 

Josh moves closer to Tyler, “I am so sorry, Tyler, I’m so _sorry-”_

 

“It doesn’t matter now,” He stares down at his glass, “We just have to get back.”

 

Josh’s shoulders fall.

 

“Then we get out of… wherever we are right now, we’ll find a way back into the city.”

 

Tyler looks back up at him, “I’m sorry too, I wouldn’t listen to you and we got buried under the sand.”

 

Josh shakes his head, “That’s fine, but… the sand scared me more, buried in the dark like that, not being able to breath…”

 

Tyler paused, then whispered, “And… that voice?”

 

Josh gave a sigh of relief, then laid back, “I thought I was going crazy.” Then he stood, Tyler following him, “Do you think Jet was right? It was dehydration.”

 

He shrugged, “It felt real.”

 

Josh almost seemed to shiver, “Let’s get back into the city as fast as we can.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jet Star met them in the only other room in the house with a meal composed of one can of an ugly looking meat that Jet Star had tried to cook.

 

“I don’t have much, but this stuff is kind of good when you get used to it.”

 

It tasted like dog food.

 

“This tastes like dog food,” Josh voiced this thought.

 

“It is,” Jet Star took a big bite of his quarter of the can.

 

“Oh.”

 

“So,” Jet Star wiped his hands on his pants, “I’m guessing you guys are Angel Food-”

 

“Angel Food?” Josh asked, pushing the small bowl of dog food away.

 

“New to the zones,” Jet Star clarified, waving his hand, “You’ll pick up on the lingo soon, anyway, that’s what I’m guessing, I won’t ask how you got all the way out here to zone 6, but I will tell you some stuff you should know, I don’t want some inexperienced Tumbleweed thinking they’re all that and shooting their toes off.”

 

Tyler tried taking a bite of the dog food, and almost gagged, spitting it back into the cup Jet Star had provided.

 

He took a quick look around the small room.

 

The walls were chipped and cracking wood beams, held together with tape and posters peeling from the walls, cabinets sat on the ground, there were no appliances. A small, electric fan was plugged into a cord that ran outside, probably connected to a generator or something.

 

“Now, if you escaped the city,” Jet Star began again, “BLi will probably look for you, try to capture you, and bring you back as example, but the only way they can find you is through your name, there are some BLi pigs that crawl around the desert wearing desert clothes looking for someone to say their name so they can be identified, since those fucks can’t get good camera feed out here, they rely on some pretty shitty crap called Spy Flies, they’re pretty easy to spot, so just shoot them down as soon as you see ‘em.”

 

“So how do you not get spotted?” Josh asked.

 

“Well, you and your quiet friend should probably get some new names, like I have Jet Star, and maybe a good bandana or a mask or something, dye your hair if want.”

 

Josh frowned at that.

 

“Now, some fuck-up Beta-Bug will probably go on and tell you that your name has to be all special, but honestly? Jet Star sounded cool, so you can just use something you like, like I gotta friend down in zone 5 that just calls himself Six, with two ‘x’s ‘because he says it’s cool. So just do what you want,” Jet Star cracked his knuckles, “What’s the first thing you can think of, right now!”

 

Josh looked taken aback, scrunching up his face, “Uh...um, Jim.”

 

“Jim,” Jet Star repeated, “Maybe you should find something with more meaning, it’s a lot more special that way.”

 

“Oh,” Josh shrugged, looking around at all the posters.

 

“So, what about you?” Jet Star turned to Tyler, “Got any names you think would be good?”

 

He tries to remember something, _anything,_ a nickname Jenna, or his mom might have called him. But he could only stare at the poster hanging in front of on the opposite wall, depicting a crying woman with faded blue skin and empty, white eyes. He shuffled his feet, “No, I don’t think so.”

 

The woman looked a little too much like Jenna.

 

Josh picked at his fingernails, “So, do you know a lot about BLi?”

 

“That depends on what you consider to be a lot.” Jet Star responded.

 

“Well,” Josh hesitated, “Have you ever heard anything called… The Scarecrow program?”

 

Jet Star frowned, “I might have heard the name before…” He leaned forward, “I think, Sixx mentioned a Scarecrow, there was a massive blowout in Zone 5, led by a big group of Exterminators he said one of them called himself a Scarecrow, said he was like a machine or something.”

 

Josh rubbed his eyes and muttered under his breath.

 

“So I can give you a good direction to go in, but I don’t really want a part in whatever vengeance plan you think you’re gonna carry out, okay?”

 

Josh nodded, “Okay.”

 

“I’ll give you some water,” Jet Star turned and dug through a cabinet, “There’s a nightclub east of here, you can probably nab some food and even some paint, they won’t notice, that place is in a constant state of Costa Rica.” He threw them both some water bottles, which Tyler caught with the ends of his unprepared fingers.

 

“Just make sure to ration it,” Jet Star looked almost guilty, but the expression left his face as quickly as it had appeared. He led them outside.

 

Jet Star pointed at the horizon, “Head that way, you might have to stop for the night but if you keep in that direction you won’t miss the club, it’s called Hyper Thrust, you’ll know when you’re getting close when the sand turns to gold.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Josh squinted at the spot Jet Star had pointed.

 

“It’s kind of what happens when so much glitter gets mixed into the sand it starts to glow, we call it a Sun Garden.”

 

“Are you sure you can’t help us out more?” Tyler felt bad for asking and Jet Star got the guilty look on his face again.

 

“Yes, I’m just trying to stay safe out here and I don’t need some Dust Babies like you getting me mixed up in something Polka-Dotty.” His answer was terse and he turned his back on them as soon as he could.

 

“Hey!” Josh called to him, “Thank you!”

 

“Please leave!” Jet Star called back.

 

* * *

 

 

They walked again.

 

Both of them wary of the ground underneath them, sipping tiny sips out of their water bottles.

 

They didn’t talk.

 

He didn’t know what he would say if they did.

 

The sun ate at his skin and the sand would sting his face whenever the wind would blow.

 

He didn’t want to hear the voice again.

 

Sometimes he would imagine what it would say, it made his ears scratch.

 

He was exhausted and sweaty when the sun began to dip, and it brought a disconnected feeling to his entire body.

 

Nothing was his anymore.

 

He was a passenger, never in control.

 

He looked at Josh, who stared ahead, mouth open, breathing heavy.

 

He looked away, something peaked above the dune in front of them.

 

“Maybe that’s Hyper Thrust,” Josh gasped, “Or someplace to sleep.”

 

“Maybe,” His body said, agreeing with Josh.

 

The moon showed itself as they climbed over the dune.

 

Nothing but an old barn, falling apart at the seams.

 

“We can rest here,” Josh seemed disappointed it wasn’t Hyper Thrust, but Tyler wasn’t paying attention.

 

Did he really have to?

 

They found an old sheet, hanging from the second floor of the barn.

 

It was covered in hay and dust and they laid it down on the sand for something to lie on.

 

“Hey, Tyler?” Josh asked before they slept, “Are you okay? You seem kind of… Gone.”

 

He looked at Josh, his mouth said, “I’m fine.”

 

He doesn’t know if Josh believes him.

 

His dream goes like this:

 

Red.

 

Not blood, just the color.

 

It’s everywhere.

 

Jenna smiles, Josh smiles, Tyler smiles.

 

A hot meal, his mom.

 

His mom smiles too.

 

But everything is red.

 

Jenna says: “This isn’t real.”

 

Josh laughs.

 

His mom laughs.

 

Tyler doesn’t.

 

Someone grabs his hand, himself.

 

He, who isn’t him, says: “ _Help me destroy them._ ”

 

He, who is himself, asks: “Destroy who?”

 

Not himself says: “ _I don’t care._ ” Not him grabs a fork off the table, “ _Them all?_ ” Not himself stabs Josh with the fork on the other side of the table.

 

Tyler screams.

 

Josh laughs and dies.

 

Not himself tilts his head, he says: “ _I was put here to do something. For someone._ ”

 

“For whom?” Tyler stares at Josh’s face.

 

Not Tyler shrugs, _“I don’t know, they made me blind.”_

 

He wakes up like this:

 

“Tyler!” Josh whisper-yells at him, “Wake up!”

 

He gets shaken.

 

He is awake.

 

He wants to be thankful Josh isn’t dead, but his mind won’t give that emotion.

 

Still a passenger.

 

“What is it?” He whispers to Josh, who points at the barn door, then puts a finger across his lips, his eyes afraid.

 

Something buzzes and beeps.

 

A robot, gliding above the ground, it’s iridescent wings beat too fast for Tyler to see, and it’s one red eye scanned the ground while it’s six robotic arms hung useless above the ground. It flew closer.

 

“A spy fly.” Josh guessed.

 

Tyler nodded.

 

“We have to get rid of it.” Josh looked around for something to throw.

 

It flew closer, not having seen them yet. Tyler crawled toward it, reaching out a hand to grab it, he doesn’t know why.

 

He is still a passenger.

 

It faces him with one red eye, buzzing its ugly song.

 

“Tyler!” Josh yells.

 

He closes his hand around it, trying to crush it between his fingers.

 

Josh grabs him around his waist and a beam of light shoots through the Fly and he returns to his own body, shaking. “I’m sorry,” he tries to say.

 

Jet Star says: “You guys are _idiots_.”

 

Josh smiles, small and confused, “What are you doing here?”

 

Jet Star hesitates, “I… remembered that have business to take care of at Hyper Thrust. But what the hell was he trying to do?!”

 

Josh lets Tyler go and looks back at him, “What _were_ you trying to do?” He’s worried and angry at the same time.

 

“I don’t know,” He feels like crying. “It’s like I wasn’t even here.”

 

Sand swirls through the rickety barn, it almost seemed to be laughing at his despair.

 

_“The whole thing is quite hopeless, so it's no good worrying about tomorrow. It probably won't come.”_

_―_ _J.R.R. Tolkien_ _,_ _The Return of the King_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can twenty one pilots stop releasing new music every time I write a chapter about them!? I seriously debated whether to call this chapter Cancer or not
> 
> Costa Rica- desert lingo meaning crazy/insane/mindlessness
> 
> Hats off to a new editor!


	18. Golden

 

_“We are addicted to our thoughts. We cannot change anything if we cannot change our thinking.”_

_―_ _Santosh Kalwar_ _,_ _Quote Me Everyday_

 

He can’t feel his fingers, or toes, or his cheeks.

 

He knows why.

 

He takes them dry and they tumble down his throat, sour, like blood.

 

His hands shake, wrapped in bandages, and he wishes the fight was still going. The fight makes everything clear, the cotton in front of his eyes disappears and the headache leaves. Adrenaline makes him **better.**

 

But he needs them. They make him steady, calm, they make his hands stop shaking and his heart slow.

 

Johnny stares at him as he passes, his hands are tied and bloody, but wrapped like his own.

 

He can feel the heat in the air as their eyes meet.

 

No one had won their fight, and Johnny wanted to keep going, even if he had a couple years on Andy. He strained against his bonds and tried to tempt him into untying him, and Andy wanted to.

 

On the other side of the room, Brobeck and Glass sat. Brobeck looked empty, and Glass, tired.

 

He was shaken back to reality when Baby Snake came to retrieve them both, saying he needed to talk with Brobeck, and led them out of the room.

 

Glass gave him a look as he guided Brobeck around the table and chairs.

 

He looks away from Johnny, his headache returning.

 

Later, he joins Pete on the back porch.

 

He talks with Disashi, the other man that had worked with the ugly thin man.

 

“I’m really sorry, I never meant to hurt anyone,” Disashi tells Pete. Andy stares into the desert. “I was forced into it, they helped me when I was lost, then they wouldn’t let me leave, they do that to a lot of kids.”

 

Disashi wrings his hands, and his dark skin reflects the sun.

 

“I’m lucky though, a lot of those kids just except it, go in fully committed, believing the whole story without a second thought.”

 

Andy remembers the boy they had captured a few nights before, Ben Barlow, with the hopeful eyes and dishwater hair.

 

Pete nods, “Where did you come from before?”

 

Disashi scratched at a bandage on his arm, “There’s this tribe of people in Zones 1 and 2 who worship a Snake, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I left.” Pete leaned forward.

 

“We met someone from there too!” His eyes were wide with excitement, “Have you ever met The Cobra?” Disashi’s eyes flashed with something unrecognizable.

 

“I left a little after him, he started something back there.”

 

“Why did you leave?” Pete asked, “For the same reason, or…?”

 

“Pretty much,” Disashi nodded, “It became too hard to believe, and I thought I was just questioning it, but then I was invited to take part in a ceremony, and I found out we… _sacrificed_ people--”

 

“Cobra didn’t tell us that!”

 

“It’s a well kept secret I guess,” Disashi shrugged, “It’s only used for a private ceremony every couple of weeks, and only a few older men and women are supposed to know, and kids they think hold a special connection to the Snake. So either he knew and didn’t tell, or he just didn’t know.”

 

Andy could barely wrap his head around it.

 

“And that’s only _one_ reason I left,” Disashi tried to lighten the mood, “There’s no identity to anything back there, everything has to be done the same, every ceremony, every prayer, it had me confused for the longest time, like, isn’t this why we left Bat City and BLi behind?” He sighed.

 

“Then Cobra left and everything kind of fell apart, our leader is still probably trying to patch things up.”

 

“Oh man,” Pete rested his head on his knees and wrapped his arms around his face, Disashi squinted into the distance, “Where did you say the Cobra was now?”

 

“Oh,” Pete lifted his head, “Zone 1, somewhere to the west, facing away from the city.”

 

Disashi nodded, “I should find him.”

 

His voice gave Andy a bad feeling.

 

They fell silent until Disashi asked: “What are you gonna do to Johnny?”

 

“I don’t know,” Pete said, “Baby Snake said he’d take care of him…”

 

Disashi rubbed the back of his head, “That guy has a death wish or something…”

 

“Johnny?”

 

“Yeah! He’s always going on about his dead brothers, and talks about dying, he has elaborate plans on how the desert will kill him, he’s gonna take everyone with him if he can, even when we were still with Mr. Brightside-” He gasped. “He’s gonna take everyone… I know what he’s gonna do!”

 

“Who?” Pete sat up straight, “The Southern Man?”

 

“Who? Oh, yeah,” Disashi nodded, “He was talking about it the whole ride here, so, he lost a lot of bodies lately, with people taking them or destroying them, so he wanted a way to get more and he said he would take people _alive_ if he had to, and there’s this place in Zone 6, like a club-”

 

Pete gasped, “So he’s gonna just burn the club!” He stood, “We have to tell Benzedrine!” Disashi stood and Andy watched them leave, before Pete stood in the doorway to look back at him.

 

He looked away, towards Crash and Lightning, who tinkered with their truck with somber expressions.

 

Pete slammed the door behind.

 

Andy wondered if he was angry.

 

He stays there as the sun goes down, rubbing his ink stained skin, they were like the tattoos that marked Pete. Which he showed freely in the openness of the desert. Andy wondered if he had never met Pete, he would have filed a report about him.

 

He’s glad Pete kept his own skin a secret.

 

He took some more, dry, and as they slid down his throat like pennies, he blamed himself for being so _sick._ He _squeezed_ the bottle in his fist and they clattered against the sides. They were running out and he wanted them _gone gone_ **_gone._ **

 

He curled his fingers over the label.

 

He left the porch and almost ran into Glass.

 

They’re eyes met and they both stared for a second.

 

Andy felt they understood each other. Addicts at the end of the world.

 

Glass looked down at the bottle in his hand, then looked towards the screen door. Andy understood.

 

He let him through.

 

Glass sighed, and sat heavily in his pink chair, waiting for the sun to rise.

 

Brobeck sat at the table, his head in his hands, looking out at Glass.

 

He followed the sound of voices to a small area amidst shelves and shelves of toys and trinkets. His group leaned against those shelves, along Baby Snake and three other boys that had joined them in the fight.

 

Crash and Lightning joined them from the other side and stood next to Disashi.

 

For a moment, he locked eyes with a boy in a green mask, who looked away almost immediately.

 

“We can’t go tonight, it’s too dark and we risk catching up with him,” Horseshoe Crab rubbed his eyes, “Which is what he wants, he’ll slip away and were left in the dark shooting each others asses off.”

 

“He could also be gathering the last of his allies!”  Pete argued, “If we don’t catch him by surprise now, we’ll be outnumbered in a burning nightclub with a bunch drunk Zone rats!” The one called Young Vein groaned.

 

“If we go after him right now, we risk losing what little gas we have, and getting stuck in the _dark_ with a batshit cult leader.”

 

Dr. Benzedrine sighed, “Right now, that asshole doesn’t know that we know what he’s planning, if he’s gathering the last of his group, he’s probably making the trip to Zones 2 and 3, which is a one day, one night trip without stopping, if we go after him right now, we lose the only edge we have over him.”

 

Secret Lover snapped her fingers, “That gives us…” she counted on her fingers, “Two and a half days to prepare! It will take us a shorter amount of time to get to Hyper Thrust, we could even ambush them there!”

 

“I can find some gas,” Baby Snake chimed in, “You could load up in the truck and I’ll lead you there in my Cherry.” Andy guessed he was talking about the red car sitting in the garage.

 

“Are you sure you want to come?” Benzedrine frowned, “Brobeck-”

 

“Brobeck needs some time,” Baby Snake interrupted, “And Glass can’t help much in a clap.” Young Vein patted his shoulder.

 

“They’ll both be fine.” He smiled, “You’ve got all the backup you need with us.”

 

“Seriously?” Horseshoe Crab asked, “You guys really want to help us?”

 

“The Danger Blues are in,” The one called Mona Lisa pounded his fist on a shelf, “Moving bodies like that will only bring bad luck to the desert.”

 

The one in the green mask snorted, “I mean, there are other reasons, but yeah, that’s basically it.”

 

Pete tapped his fingers on one of the shelves. “This doesn’t guarantee anything, there are going to be people at the nightclub, if we don’t get there fast enough, we have a bunch of drunk Zone Rats who don’t have any idea what’s going on…”

 

“There are always going to be variables Card,” Benzedrine faced Pete, “We deal with it when it becomes an issue, right now, we just need to focus on what we do have.”

 

* * *

 

 

Johnny was gone before Andy woke up.

 

Brobeck, Glass, and even Baby Snake were quiet about what had happened.

 

“Did you kill him?” Andy asked Glass, his voice quiet and hoarse.

 

Glass looked down at his feet, “No,” he answered, his voice is dry and cracking from his dry throat, he hadn’t gotten the high he had needed from the sun.

 

Andy took his pills right in front of him, _almost gone,_ they went down like dice and whiskey.

 

They sat for awhile, Andy was glad they didn’t talk.

 

The night before, Pete had been angry.

 

He had rammed into shelves and put bruises on his shoulders, and pushed Benzedrine and Horseshoe away, he almost spit in Andy’s face. He almost started to cry, saying he wasn’t worth anything. Andy didn’t know what to do.

 

Pete spoke too fast and said mean things, then he went to sleep.

 

Benzedrine had taken the most of it.

 

He had sat through every insult, then told Pete he was being a dick.

 

He couldn’t remember well, but Baby Snake might have punched Pete in the stomach for touching Brobeck’s things.

 

 _He’s anxious before the fight,_ Benzedrine patted him on the back, _I’ll figure something out._

 

Andy had never met anyone like Benzedrine.

 

He was closed off and private, but he was kind. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been kind to him.

 

Benzedrine reapplied his bandages and washed away some of the ink on Andy’s skin, making the writing unintelligible, now they were gray splotches of the trace Battery City had left on him.

 

They would soon fade.

 

He doesn’t know he could have let this happen to himself.

 

Horseshoe Crab was smart.

 

Smarter than anyone Andy had ever met in the city.

 

While Benzedrine wrapped his bandages, Horseshoe talked about his job with the Pony Express, a desert mail delivery company. He talked about his routes, his red bicycle he had gotten with the job, his customers and their crazy request, the distances he’s traveled, and how long it took to get there. He could even turn a whole day trip into six hour one.

 

He didn’t talk about the pills. Even though he was uncomfortable at the sight of them.

 

Young Vein appeared and disappeared and Glass went with him, and Andy took two more.

 

His fingers were numb, and his headache returned.

 

He doesn’t care.

 

The walls close in on him.

 

He wonders what it would be like, being addicted to the sun.

 

He wanders the building and takes more of them, he feels better, less shaky, they do their job and he is blissfully empty empty _empty._

 

He meets Jon when they run out.

 

They meet in front of the porcelain dolls, chipped and cracked like everything else.

 

Maybe he is made of porcelain.

 

Jon says: “Andy.” And takes off his mask of flowers. “Andy?”

 

He’s back in Milwaukee, the houses are big and the street is wide.

 

_“Hey! Jon!” He laughs and yells across the street, “Did you ask that girl out yet? you chicken!”_

 

_“My brother got her first!” Jon laughs and gives him the finger._

 

Andy stays quiet because he has nothing, or maybe too much, to say. He feels empty, there is nothing to grab onto except an empty bottle, he spirals inside his own head and there are too many feelings that want to yell, scream, and cry and he wants to go home he wants to go home he wantstogohomehewantstogohome.

 

Milwaukee.

 

_“I’m getting better at guitar,” Jon takes a sip from his juice box, they are eleven._

 

_“Maybe we’ll make a band,” Andy lies back on the grass, “Just the two of us.”_

 

_“Neither of us can sing, nimrod!” Jon lies back next to him, “We sound like screaming cats!”_

 

“Hi Jon,” Andy looks away, he took too many, he can’t feel a thing. Jon frowns and looks down at the empty bottle of pills.

 

“How did you even get out here?” Jon is angry, and sad, “Why would you even leave?”

 

Andy placed the bottle on the shelf, soft and shaking, “I left with Black Card, I signed the papers.”

 

“You signed the papers? You worked for them?!”

 

“Only for a while.” Andy looks down at the floor, a lump in his throat making it hard to breath.

 

Jon takes a deep breath, “When I left…” He began, “I thought you were gone, I thought _everyone_ was gone.”

“I was,” He can’t remember what happened after Milwaukee, “I still am.”

 

“But I could stopped you, and I didn’t.”

 

“I wouldn’t have let you.”

 

“I didn’t even try to do anything! Andy-”

 

“I wouldn’t have let you! I never tried! Not even out here.” He tries to be angry, the pills stop him.

 

“That doesn’t mean I should have given up, Andy.”

 

“Stop feeling pity for me.”

 

_“My aunt started taking these pills,” Jon said, they are fourteen._

 

_“Yeah?” Andy scribbled down a nonsense answer on his math homework._

 

_“They make her act weird,” Jon huffed, “I want her to stop.”_

 

_“Pills are supposed to help,” Andy flipped through his textbook._

 

_“These ones don’t, they make her… empty, I don’t know…”_

 

“Why can’t I?” Jon asked, “Can’t I feel bad? Can’t I feel angry at myself? I’m the one who didn’t help you, I didn’t do anything!”

 

“Because you didn’t do this to me Jon!” Andy yelled louder than he had meant to, and it echoed around the dusty shelves, ringing in his own ears. “I did this to myself,” He whispered. “I didn’t want to feel anything anymore.”

 

His heart pounded in his ears, his hands were numb.

 

He rubbed them, he didn’t want to do this anymore.

 

He wished he had more of them.

 

But the bottle stood empty.

 

“What?” Jon asked.

 

“I didn’t want to feel anything, I just wanted… I wanted out.” His breath shakes, “My parents didn’t talk to me until I asked for the prescription… I was gonna take as many as I could.”

 

Jon squeezed his eyes shut. “So you…”

 

“I took one.”

 

“Did you….?”

 

“No. I felt better.”

 

“Why couldn’t you… Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Andy shook his head, “You already did so much for me…. I couldn’t…. I would ruin your life.”

 

“Ruin my life?” Jon took a step back, incredulous, “Andy you’re my best friend! I would have dropped everything!”

 

“You were gonna go to college, Jon,” He stared at his hands, “I would ruin everything.”

 

“No, I ruined everything,” Jon said, “I talked about leaving and I only focused on myself, then i blamed you and left.”

 

He wouldn’t accept that. He didn’t try, he never did and it would always be his fault his fault his fault because he couldn’t remember his own address or his father’s name or where he was before he moved to Battery City and he almost forgot Jon and something else _something elsesomething else something good._

 

“Now I’m out,” He pointed to the bottle, “I just need more.”

 

He still isn’t trying.

 

Nothing is linear.

 

He’s still a rat.

 

* * *

 

 

He is sick the next day.

 

His stomach is uneasy, he needs more but they are gone.

 

Shelves twist and turn around him and the floor is like water and everyone rushes around him making his vision swim they have a purpose, a fight, and he just has pills.

 

He is in the kitchen, he can’t eat.

 

He watches the rest of them eat, stealing food from the cupboards and sneaking glasses of Baby Snake’s Sweet Tea.

 

Pete tries to apologize.

 

“It’s okay,” He almost slurs.

 

“It’s not,” Pete shakes his head, “I can’t just get away with shit like that!”

 

“Benzedrine said he would help you.” Andy mumbles, almost incoherent.

 

Pete rubs his eyes, “I’m just…I’m really sorry Andy.”

 

They were preparing for a fight. A ‘Clap’. They needed gas, they needed a charge, they needed a _plan, Racetraitor get out of my way, Race are you okay? Stay right here. Andy?_

 

He is shaking, is he crying?

 

He _leans_ against a shelf.

 

 _Woah, Andy,_ Jon swims into view, _Are you okay?_

 _I need,_ He tries to speak slow, _I need them._

 

_Andy you ran out._

 

He gags, _like iron, like wine, like blood._

 

His whole body _hurts._

 

His fingers tingle.

 

So do his toes.

 

_Vein! Get the Sawbones! Dr. Benzedrine!_

 

_What’s wrong with him?_

 

_He… He was a Ritalin Rat, he ran out…_

 

 _Ritalin Rat Ritalin Rat RitalinRatRitalinRatRITALINRATRITALINRAT_ **_RITALINRAT_ **

 

**_RAT._ **

 

Something rushes from the back of his throat and ends up on the floor, it’s white and cloudy and mixed with **blood.**

 

He’s on the ground.

 

 _Race? Racetraitor? Andy?!_ Black feathers, like a bird, shine in his face, yellow, for Dr. Benzedrine, _Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?_

 

 _Here!_ Pete is there, _I have this, it’s for overdoses!_

 

 _No!_ Jon pushes him, _I saw him, he ran out yesterday!_

 

His body shakes against his will, banging his legs against the wood floor, Benzedrine, Pete, and Jon float through his vision, combine into one, yelling, whispering, incomplete thoughts, then they separate.

 

Then he is floating, up up up and down

                                                                         down

                                                                                                    down

                                                                                                                               down  

 

Onto something soft.

 

He shakes and grabs at the soft thing, pillows.

 

_If he’s going through withdrawal, we have to wait it out._

 

_I don’t get it, if he ran out yesterday, shouldn’t it have taken longer for him to get like this?_

 

_BLi’s pills are made to do this, like a punishment, if you stop taking, you’ll feel it fast, that’s why so many juvie halls are caught so easily, they  get sick before they can even make it out of the city._

 

_We can’t wait this out, Mr Brightside is so close, he’ll kill everyone at Hyper Thrust._

 

_I’ll stay, I have to make it up to him._

 

_Are you sure Card? Brobeck and Glass will be here, so will Disashi._

 

_It’s my fault, I’m the one who got him out here. I have to help him through._

 

_Let me stay too then!_

 

_Green Man? Why do you care?_

_Why wouldn’t I care? He’s my friend, we have to look out for each other in the desert._

 

Their bodies swam above him, arguing, worried. Dr. Benzedrine wiped a wet cloth on his forehead, his water-like eyes clear and calm, he became lost in them, set adrift over an endless blue, riding a pale yellow sailboat, it rocks back and forth over the waves, steady and almost sweet.

 

He threw up over the side of the bed, leaking blood and pills over the side in a white river that trailed through the cracks in the floorboards.

 

Dr. Benzedrine watched it flow with wide eyes.

 

_You can both stay here, it doesn’t matter._

 

Benzedrine turns away.

 

_What about Mr. Brightside?_

Dr. Benzedrine’s voice is clear and rings through the milky haze that envelops his mind.

 

“We’ll get him, this time, we’ll get him.”

 

_“Here I am trying to live, or rather, I am trying to teach the death within me how to live.”_

_―_ _Jean Cocteau_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> juvie halls - inner city 'joys attempting to escape to the desert
> 
> Props to my editor! You can find her here: trohleyfucker.tumblr.com


	19. Always

 

_ “We must live together as brothers or perish together as fools.”  _

_ ―  _ _ Martin Luther King Jr. _

 

He feels almost cold.

 

Brobeck doesn’t speak, he is filled with the smoke of regret, Brendon can almost taste it.

 

It’s sour and sticks to the back of his throat.

 

Baby Snake leads them out of them kitchen, his touch is soft.

 

Brendon gives the one called Racetraitor a look of caution as he passes, he’s ready for a fight, but the fire disappears from his eyes as Brendon passes.

 

Baby Snake hugs Brobeck, hugs Dallon, hugs Brendon, they hug back.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Dallon cries, he curls into ball on the floor, gangly limbs and long fingers crushed together and he is so  _ small. _

 

“I know, I know, I know,” Baby Snake, Kenny, sits with him, “I know Dallon.”

 

Brendon puts a hand on Dallon’s shoulder, he is cold and terrified.

 

Brendon wishes he was warmer, like Her and her summer smile and winter blaze.

 

She would know what to say.

 

“I don’t… I don’t know  _ why,”  _ Dallon’s hands shake, “She was hitting you and hitting you and  _ hitting you  _ and I….”

 

Brendon still feels the bat, swinging and hitting, the bruises throbbed and his head pounded and then Dallon was there with an expression Brendon had never  _ seen. _

 

“You protected Brendon, you saved his  _ life,  _ Dallon,” Kenny soothes him, “Then I left you alone, I’m sorry Dallon, I’m so sorry you had to do that.”

 

“I…” Dallon looks to Brendon, his smile and hopeful eyes gone, “I killed someone.” He whispers, sucking in the air around him and emptying the house of light. His colorful collection dulls to grays and muted palettes. “Why would I kill someone?”

 

It’s a question not even Kenny can answer.

 

Kenny had never seen such violence from Dallon, or maybe he had. 

 

But Brendon had not.

 

He looks down at his arms, at the burns the cracked along his skin, arcing up his fingers.

 

He had killed  _ It  _ that day.

 

_ It, not a them, or him or her.  _

 

_ It. _

 

He didn’t, couldn’t, understand, it wasn’t the same. 

 

“You were protecting our friends, Dallon,” Kenny’s voice is strong and meaningful, he doesn’t stray from the truth. “You were protecting Brendon.”

 

“Then why…” He sniffs and buries his head in his hands, “Why do I feel so terrible?”

 

Brendon can almost hear her voice, she speaks through him: “What if you felt nothing at all?” His voice is cracking and rough, he wished it wasn’t.

 

“That’s-” Dallon screws his face into something tight, he doesn’t want to cry anymore, “That’s even worse!” The tears fall and he is sobbing, sobbing into Kenny’s wide shoulder and his tears are like falling stars and rising ash from flame.

 

“Brendon is right,” Kenny whispers, “He’s right, what if you felt nothing?”

 

“I’m still a monster!” Dallon digs his fingers into his thick hair, “I’m still a monster!”

 

“We’re all monsters,” Brendon speaks his own words now, she would be proud, “What would you be if you didn’t feel anything?”

 

Dallon is silent, save for his sniffling and and shaky breaths that echo off the shelves.

 

Kenny answers for him, “BLi, Dallon, you would be BLi,” Dallon nearly screams, pushing Kenny and Brendon away, weakly. He curls up on the ground and melts into the wood floor, his tears falling to the ground. Kenny grabs his shoulder, “But you’re not! You’re not, Dallon! You feel something!” He nearly shakes Dallon, but Brendon stops him.

 

“I killed someone.”

 

Dallon doesn’t listen. Kenny does.

 

“I killed someone too Dallon,” Brendon speaks right in his ear, “It’s my fault she’s dead, I left her alone and the took her,  _ they replaced her, it’s all my fault.” _

 

_ She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone. _

 

He wants to believe himself.

 

But she is there, in his head.

 

Dallon cries and cries and cries and cries until he says he has a headache and by then he has no more tears.

 

He asks where the body is, he wants to see it, he wants to say sorry.

 

Mona Lisa burned it, Baby Snake says, but he can still say he’s sorry.

 

They find a blackened spot of sand, Mona Lisa had buried the bones.

 

Brobeck leaves a plastic flower on the ash, then hugs Brendon, he’s almost too tall to give him a good one. “I’m happy that… you’re alive.”

 

Baby Snake finds Dr. Benzedrine, they talk, Brendon thinks, about Dallon.

 

He realizes he is empty, he needs to be filled.

 

He hasn’t seen her in so long.

 

He brushes past Racetraitor on the way to the porch, they stare at each other for a moment, then he looks down at the pill bottle in Race’s hand, then towards the sun peaking through the notches in the screen door.

 

Racetraitor understands.

 

They both step over Johnny.

 

Brendon sighs and eases into his pink chair.

 

It takes a while for the radiation to fill him.

 

But when it does, She appears, brushing her hands over his thin shoulders and up his neck, whispering in his ears before appearing in front of him, wearing her flowing white dress. Her hair swirls around her face, her smile is like the sun, and her eyes are like the endless blue sky.

 

He hasn’t seen her in so long.

 

He was gone too long.

 

The radiation almost carries him through the entire night, and She glows in the moonlight.

 

Then she speaks.

 

She says:  _ “Do you think she would be proud?” _

 

“Proud?” He smiles and touches her soft cheeks, she reaches up and runs her fingers over his own.

 

Her voice is not her own when she squeezes his hand, hard, his fingers bend in awkward directions.

 

_ “Would she be proud of what you’ve become?” _

 

“She-!” Brendon tries to pull away, “You’re hurting me!”

 

_ “What would she think of us?”  _ She smiles, her teeth are gray and pointed. It isn’t her, it’s someone else, stealing her place in his mind. His head fills with questions.

 

_ Who am I? Who am I anymore? Who am I who am I who am I whoamIwhoamIwhoAMIWHOAMI _

 

_ WHO ARE YOU? _

 

_ WHO ARE WE? _

 

_ “What would she think,  _ **_Glassss?”_ ** Her voice deepens, her teeth pointed, her lips gray.  _ “What would ssssshhhhe sssssaaaayy?” _

 

She whispers into his ear, her dry lips brushing against his skin:

 

_ “What would  _ **_SARAH_ ** _ sssssssay?” _

 

He screams, shaking in his seat, she, not she, holds him down.

 

It’s not her It’s not her It’s NOT HER.

 

“Glass?” Baby Snake shakes him awake, “Glass? Are you okay?”

 

His breathing is heavy and he’s covered in cold sweat, “I… I-” He looks around at the cold clear night, “What?”

 

“You were shaking, are you okay?”

 

Glass stares up at Baby Snake, “I don’t know.” His voice is high and scared.

 

“Why don’t you come inside? I’m gonna see what I can do with Johnny.”

 

Glass follows him into the dark kitchen, Brobeck sits alone at the table, his eyes glazed and dark circles shone under them.

 

He hasn’t slept.

 

A single candle is lit.

 

Johnny sits quiet, his hands still tied, his gag removed. He smiled slyly as they entered. “So does it begin with three and end with three?”

 

“What are you talking about?” Baby Snake frowns.

 

“Nothing,” Johnny talks to the floor, “But doesn’t it seem that everything that comes around, goes around in the desert?”

 

“I don’t think it’s really smart of you to try and spin rhymes while your own life is being debated over.” Baby Snake huffs into a chair by the kitchen table.

 

Johnny rolls his tongue over his teeth and spits one out, “Do I look like I care about any of that static? Your days are numbered, just like my hours, I’d say we’re all on our last 48.”

 

“Why’s that?” Baby Snake crosses his arms.

 

“You’re entire group is going on a wild Drac hunt, after Mr. Brightside, save Hyper Thrust, become heroes! You could even do it too, from what I saw, this one was a real hero.” He gestured toward Brobeck, who quickly looked away. “But, come on, will you really? You’re outnumbered, I can tell you that right now. Mr Brightside is insane, he’ll take you with him if all else fails, all to resurrect a dead killjoy, who probably doesn’t even exist.”

 

“What about you?” Baby Snake asks, “Why do you say your days are numbered?”

 

Johnny shrugs, a move that is cold yet nonchalant, he lost his fire long ago. “Because that’s just how the cactus grows,” He looked around at each of them, “My family is cursed, in the end, we were born to end up dead.”

 

He makes the room colder with his words, Glass shivers.

 

“You boys are lucky,” Johnny’s eyes are dark, “You have each other, all three of you are alive, together. But me? My brothers are gone, and I’m destined to join them.”

 

The Shithole was silent.

 

Glass could hear the buzzing of the neon signs at the front entrance, and the snoring of the other groups, huddled randomly around the building, sleeping off the stress of the day.

 

Johnny continued.

 

“My first brother, Joey, he was killed by BLi, then the sun took Dee Dee.”

 

“Dee Dee?” Glass breathed, Johnny tilts his head.

 

“That’s right, you’re a Wave Head aren’t you?” He sneers, “Tell me, is Dee Dee dead yet? Or is he still kicking?”

 

“He…”Glass wrings his hands, feeling the spots She had dug her fingernails into, “He was killed.”

 

Johnny sits back against the wall, “Not surprised,” He sighs, this time heavy and tired, “He got mean after Joey died, I started hurting myself, he just laughed…” He looked up at them, “That just leaves me, I’m the last one, the last Ramone, and if BLi took one, the sun took the other, the desert will take me.”

 

Brobeck shakes his head slowly, frowning, “I don’t understand, why do you just want to disappear like that? No one will remember you.”

 

Johnny shakes his own head, “You’ll understand, one day, or maybe you won’t, it’s not my job to make you understand how life works.”

 

Johnny was cold and frozen in his decision, his eyes were empty and his jaw set. Glass wanted to think the opposite, but it wasn’t worth it, Johnny was ready to die, or he was already dead.

 

“Is that really what you want?” Baby Snake asked him.

 

“To disappear? Let the desert take me?” Johnny spat, “It’s the only thing I want.” He folded is legs and stood, grunting and heaving, “You can even leave these things on,” He gestured with his head to the thin rags tying his hands together.

 

Baby Snake only stared at him.

 

“Come on,” Johnny groaned, “You want me out of your house? I’ll leave right now, no water or supplies!”

 

Then Brobeck was there, cutting his binds. “Then get out!” He said, opening the screen door with one hand. Johnny smiled.

 

“At least one of you gets it.”

 

He trundled out to the porch, then out onto the sand.

 

They watched him follow along some old tire tracks, before he veered off into the direction of Zone 4, Baby Snake huffed, “I guess even he’s too scared to head to Zones 5 and 6.”

 

They watched him disappear over the horizon.

 

‘I don’t think I ever want to understand what he meant,” Brobeck whispered, and Baby Snake and Glass nodded their agreement.

 

Morning came.

 

Brobeck refused to sleep.

 

A sick, disgusting feeling filled his throat, gray teeth and cracking lips smiled at the back of his thoughts. They stained everything black and scratched at the spots on his neck She had run her soft fingers over, his skin had warmed with her touch.

 

But now it felt as if someone was digging their fingernails into an open wound, scratching at the muscle and digging their way to the bone.

 

The dead look in Johnny’s eyes wouldn’t leave, filling him with guilt and regret.

 

_ He wanted this. _

 

_ He wanted to be left out in the desert, no water, no supplies. _

 

He sat with Racetraitor, who noticed Johnny’s absence.

 

_ “Did you kill him?”  _ He asked, quiet and cautious.

 

_ Yes. _

 

“No,” Glass answered.

 

They sat for awhile, Glass was thankful they didn’t talk. They didn’t to say anything.

 

Racetraitor took his pills right in front of him, pushing them down his throat with an almost ravenous look on his face, he swallowed heavily, and gasped for breath when he was done.

 

What if he had stayed in the city, taken those pills, stayed in his little white apartment with  _ It? _

 

What if he felt nothing at all.

 

Young Vein waved hello and Glass followed him around the Shithole. He talked about useless things and Glass would listen. He explained how they had stockpiled gas and put it in the truck Racetraitor had brought with him.

 

“Some of us will ride in the truck, and a few others will be in the Cherry with Baby Snake.” Young Vein supplied.

 

“I’m sorry Brobeck and I can’t come,” Glass wraps his arms around himself, Young Vein shakes his head.

 

“That’s completely milkshakes,” He pats Glass on the back, “You don’t have to worry, we’ll be fine.”

 

He doesn’t sound sure.

 

Johnny had told them they were all on their last 48. A term used to describe the two days a Killjoy can spend in the city before he’s caught.

 

He helps Baby Snake work on the Cherry, as if it needed any more.

 

There was always something that was loose, something that needed tightening, a new dent to hammer out, fluids to refill.

 

Young Veins Land Rover sat ignored, the suspension fixed long ago. Mona Lisa sat on the hood and ate lunch, charging his ray-gun.

 

He could see Dr. Benzedrine outside with Black Card, teaching him to shoot with a dusty gray raygun. Horseshoe Crab and Secret Lover stood by the truck, spray-painting red, yellow, and green symbols over the BLi logo, half melted off with acid rain.

 

Feathers and horseshoes and card jackets, japanese symbols and fancy script saying things like:  _ You’re Going Down Sugar!  _ and  _ Good Things Slit Your Throat! _

 

If he had to guess, Crash and Lightning were on the other side.

 

They worked through the night, the air turning cold and the sky, a dark purple. Some fell asleep where they stood, then retreated to the floor or inside to rest. Baby Snake fell asleep under the Cherry, and Dr. Benzedrine pulled him out still clutching a wrench.

 

He sat with Brobeck as the sun rose.

 

“Who was she?” Brobeck asked once the sun turned the sky a warm orange, he yawned and rubbed his eyes. “The girl you told me about?”

 

_ The girl. Her. _

 

He can’t even begin to describe Her. She was ethereal, a goddess, a wildfire, an earthquake, a rainstorm, a symphony, she was natural, and he was a disaster.

 

She was a red lipstick smile and sly blue eyes.

 

He goes for the simplest answer: “She was beautiful.”

 

Brobeck nods, as if it was enough.

 

Not even the radiation came close to her.

 

A commotion came from inside.

 

Racetraitor was collapsed, shaking against the shelves, mumbling nonsense.

 

Young Vein stood with his hands in his hair and Dr. Benzedrine, calm and focused, talked both Green Man and Black Card down.

 

“We need to get him someplace soft, he could injure himself if he stays on this floor.” Dr Benzedrine is masking his worry with an almost business like stare, and Black Card and Green Man talk over him. Trading arguments and confusion until Brobeck steps past them and nods to Benzedrine, taking Race under his shaking arms.

 

Benzedrine followed his lead, taking Race by his legs.

 

The made their way up the narrow stairs to the second floor, wincing every time they groaned under their collective weight.

 

They were followed by The Green Man and Black Card, their frantic shouting could be heard all the way downstairs, until a conclusion was reached.

 

Young Vein rushed out to the garage to tell Mona, and Disashi almost materialised out from behind a shelf, giving Glass an almost serene glance before asking: “What’s wrong with him?” Not seeming worried in the slightest.

 

Brobeck clambered down the steps, almost hitting his head on the ceiling as he passed under it. “He’s going through withdrawal, Black Card and Green Man are staying behind with us.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Disashi cast a worried look up the stairs, “I hope he’ll be alright.”

 

“Yeah,” Brobeck cast him an apprehensive look as Dr. Benzedrine stepped carefully down the stairs.

 

Baby Snake made his way around to meet him, holding a beat up radio in his calloused hands and trying to tune it to a man’s soft voice coming through the speakers.

 

“Benz, Dr. D’s coming through the waves, talking about a storm coming through,” Baby Snake told him, “If we wanna get to Hyper Thrust before it gets dark, we have to go now, or we’ll be stuck in a monsoon.”

 

Dr. Benzedrine sucked in a breath, glancing back upstairs then turning back to Snake with a hard look in is eye. “Alright, let’s load everyone up.” He took the radio from Baby Snake and slid past them all, on his way to the garage.

 

Baby Snake grabbed Brobeck and Glass around the shoulders, squeezing them tight, “You guys look after this place, I’ll be right back, okay?”

 

They both nodded.

 

“Glass, look after Brobeck, and Brobeck?” He looked up at Brobeck and patted him around his neck, “Please just get some sleep.”

 

Brobeck blinked, then shrugged, and they followed Baby Snake back to his garage, where everyone had congregated, save for Disashi, Black Card, and Green Man. Dr. Benzedrine took charge, laying out two separate plans for their arrival, whether the cult was there or not.

 

Baby Snake started his Cherry as Young Vein climbed into the passenger seat. He winced as if turning the key caused him physical pain, as if he wasn’t sure whether the car would start or not, even if he had spent most of his life repairing it.

 

Secret Lover joined Crash and Lightning in the back of the truck, giving Glass a quick peck on one of his pink cheeks as she passed, “Thank you for being such good hosts,” She said to both of them, looking sad.

 

Horseshoe Crab loaded his ray gun into it’s holster and jumped into the driver’s side of the truck and Benzedrine followed around the passenger side. Mona Lisa gave them a sharp whistle from the backseat of the Cherry as it rolled out of the garage, as if they were leaving on vacation, instead of going to Zone 6.

 

They were all on their last 48.

 

“I don’t want them to go,” Brobeck said, even as they faded into the distance, “I don’t want them to die.” He swayed where he stood, and Glass looked up at the dark purple shadows under his eyes.

 

He hadn’t slept since he had cried into Baby Snake’s shoulder, staining his shirt with tears. Glass pulled him back into the Shithole, trying to lead him to the stairs, to the second floor.

 

“They won’t,” Glass told him, “Mr. Brightside will be weak, even with his entire cult around him.”

 

“What makes you so sure?” Brobeck stalled, he wouldn’t sleep, and he weakly resisted Glass’s feeble push to the stairs.

 

“Because…” Glass tried to think he could almost understand Mr. Brightside, to give Brobeck a reason to sleep, heavy and dreamless. Brobeck waited.

 

“Why will he be weak?”

 

“Please Brobeck, you need sleep-”

 

“No! You have to tell me! I can’t sleep now! What if I see her face? I have to stay awake, what if they come back and I can’t wake up, what if the die and I can’t hear the broadcast? What if-”

 

“You lose Baby Snake?”

 

Brobeck stops and straightens, sucking in a hard, shaking breath. 

 

“He’s the only family I have.”

 

“I know.”

 

Brobeck leaves willingly that time, making his way upstairs, tired.

 

“You never answered his question.” A voice comes from behind him and Glass whips around.

 

Disashi leans on a shelf, his eyes darker than before and his arms crossed. “How will Mr. Brightside be weak?”

 

Glass almost doesn’t want to answer.

 

There is something different about Disashi, about the way he stands, the way he talks. The way his lips curve into a smile, it’s something darker than before. “I really want to know.”

 

Glass takes a small step back.

 

Disashi leans forward, ever so slightly. “C’mon, tell me! I want to hear your theory, why will Mr. Brightside be weak?”

 

Glass steals a glance upstairs, “Because…”

 

Disashi’s gaze doesn’t stray.

 

“Because, he’s lost something close to him,” Glass wrings his hands. “Something like that…. makes you weak.”

 

Disashi licks his lips, “Well it’s a good thing your friend killed his mother, isn’t it?”

 

_ “Friends ask you questions; enemies question you.”  _

_ ―  _ _ Criss Jami _ _ ,  _ _ Healology _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more.


	20. Youngbloods

 

_“I'm fed up to the ears with old men dreaming up wars for young men to die in.”_

_―_ _George S. McGovern_

 

Patrick takes a glance at Horseshoe, his grip on the wheel tight and his face reflected in the window. His gaze never leaves the Cherry in front of them.

 

“What are you thinking about?” He asks.

 

Horseshoe sucks in a breath, “My mom, I guess.”

 

“And what you might do if she’s there?”

 

“Or what I won’t,” Horseshoe gives him a look out of the corner of his eye. “What are you going to do?”

 

Patrick looks away, “I don’t want to lose control again, I know I said I wanted to figure it out, but now I don’t want to, I don’t want anything to do with it.”

 

“What if understanding it is the only way to control it?”

 

He didn’t have an answer.

 

Horseshoe sighed, “Sometimes… I have... nightmares, about my mom, they’re always terrible versions of her you know? Like she says all this scary shit and she’s covered in blood, but I never saw that version of her in real life, whenever I went down to the Lobby in Bat City I always saw this tired, poor, thin person, trying her best and trying to get a job even though she had an addiction.” His grip tightened on the wheel. “She was only ever violent that one night she followed me home, I never saw any of the stuff my nightmares give me.”

 

Patrick looked out towards the backseat of the Cherry, where Mona Lisa was talking animatedly about something, trying to make Young Vein smile.

 

“It’s different with you,” Horseshoe said, and Patrick looked down at his lap, “I’ve seen both sides but I’m not angry, or scared, I… I want to help you.”

 

Patrick wants to thank him, but the topic drains him, like the night after the warehouse, it makes his stomach hurt so he asks: “What was it like? The city?”

 

Horseshoe screws his face into something unrecognizable, “It was… weird, I think.” He pauses, trying to put his thoughts into something solid.

 

“I lived in kind of a richer neighborhood, it was called ‘Park Place’ or something even though there wasn’t any parks. It was looked after by exterminators, but they were nice, or at least not rude, but it was just kind of… empty, no kids played outside or ran around or anything, we just went to school and went home, we all took regulated doses of those pills so it was like… I felt nothing I guess.”

 

“Even when you were a little kid?” Patrick couldn’t imagine what the pills could feel like, the concept of feeling _nothing_ seemed like bad taste at the back of his tongue.

 

“Especially then,” Horseshoe nodded grimly, “You can’t really call toddlers ‘troublemakers’ like you used to… the weirdest thing about it though, is that I _remember_ feeling happy, almost like an afterthought, like, ‘oh yeah, my sixth birthday party, I had so much fun!’ But I _didn’t,_ my dad made me scrambled eggs that day and even had a BLi standard birthday cake sent to our house but I just wasn’t present, but I _remember_ being happy.” Patrick shivered, and Horseshoe continued.

 

“I remember once, when I was eight, I went to the grocery store with my dad and we were about to check out and… I don’t know, maybe his pills wore off, but this guy in another checkout lane started bugging out, like yelling and throwing bread and cauliflower everywhere and I _think_ I was scared, because I remember holding onto my dad’s jacket when the Exterminators showed up and just… herded us all out of the store, we didn’t even have to pay for our groceries, but I remember looking back and seeing them surround this guy and he just goes down, they didn’t report on it or anything, they just told us to forget and have a _better day_.”

 

“Do you remember the guy?” Patrick asks him, “What he looked like?”

 

“No,” Horseshoe shakes his head again, this time almost afraid, “I just remember him throwing stuff and yelling and shaking, but his face is just this gray scratch mark, or like when you erase a pencil with a bad eraser, I just remember he had wild black hair, in every direction, which was against the rules, you had to have a modest haircut, if it was too wild you would be stopped at work or anywhere public and they would cut it or have someone come and put it into something regulation.” Horseshoe smiled slightly, “That happened to me a lot.”

 

Patrick smiled, trying to imagine a younger Horseshoe, trying to pat down his wild curls on the way to school. “So what do you think happened to him?”

 

“I don’t know,” Horseshoe shrugged, “Maybe they just… got rid of him.”

 

* * *

 

They heard Hyper Thrust before they saw it.

 

A pounding beat, rattling their organs, yelling and screaming into the cloudy sky, and purple and green laser lights shooting into the air that made Horseshoe whisper, “How does BLi not find these assholes?”

 

It was a house, a rundown one at that, with a garage and shutters on the windows. It seemed to glitter in the dying sunlight. The garage was full of bodies, twisting and turning with the beat, hands going anywhere and everywhere. The music overpowered everything, but it was impossible to understand the words, and the dented dashboard in the truck rattled at every beat.

 

“I feel like I can’t even breathe,” Horseshoe almost yelled, and Patrick nodded in agreement, stretching out is chest and diaphragm, trying to help his body believe they weren’t holding their breath, even as his lungs seemed to shake.

 

The place was surrounded by bikes and cars and even piles of rollerblades stacked by the doors. Windows rattled and fights broke out the front yard, tussling and yelling over drinks and girls, someone flew through a window on the first floor, rolled for a second then immediately stood and broke another window to get back into the house.

 

“Wow.” Patrick breathed, a little astonished he had never even seen this place before today.

 

The Cherry stopped as far as Baby Snake could manage, and slightly behind a dune, and Mona and Vein jumped out. Stretching and complaining to Snake about how far away they were. Patrick and Horseshoe exited the cab as he said, “I don’t want those drunken screwheads messing with my Cherry!”

 

“The Cherry will be fine Snake!” Secret Lover yelled and Crash had his fingers in his ears.

 

“We should spread out around the house!” Patrick yelled, “Try and blend in and keep an eye out!” Young Vein and Mona Lisa nodded, then lowered their masks over their eyes, along with Crash and Lightning, then they made their way to the house.

 

Secret Lover crossed in front of Patrick, pulling her red mask down over her face, she said: “Good Luck.” Then ran to join Crash and Lightning , who had wandered into the garage.

 

“I’ll go to the second floor with Baby Snake,” Horseshoe said, “Young Vein and Mona are staying on the bottom, Snake said there’s a basement, where the drinks are and all the sound equipment, so it will be quieter.”

 

“I’ll go there, see if anyone has heard anything.” Patrick pulled his mask from his neck and positioned it around his eyes, then they entered together, separating near the stairs.

 

The music wasn’t as loud as it was in the house, even then, drunk girls and boys crowded around the speakers and jumped with the beat, their hands sliding and bodies brushing. The walls were covered in spray paint, layered so many times it was impossible to tell what they were trying to say, and ripped couches and chairs were spread throughout the room.

 

“You’re cute!” A boy with big blue eyes wrapped his arms around Patrick’s neck, “I’m Keegan!”

 

“Dr. Benzedrine!”

 

“OH! That’s so cute, are you like a Killjoy, or-”

 

“I’m sorry, I’m a little busy right now!” Patrick yelled, “How do I get to the basement?”

 

Keegan didn’t seem fazed, instead, he pointed towards a door covered in red spray paint, “Just go down those stairs and get yourself hammered at the bar and OH MY GOD!” He slapped Patrick on the arm, “Is that Mona Lisa from the Danger Blues?!” He kept his arms around Patrick, sinking to the floor as if he was melting. Patrick had to bend as Keegan fell to his knees, struggling to free himself from the boy’s grip.

 

“There’s NO WAY!” Keegan jumped to stand again, “I like, have _dreams_ about him!” He almost seemed to be vibrating.

 

“Well,” Patrick finally separated himself from Keegan, “Why don’t you ask him for an autograph?”

 

“That is SUCH A GOOD IDEA!” Keegan hugged him again then bounded towards Mona Lisa and Young Vein yelling: “Have fun in the basement motorbaby!”

 

The song changed as Patrick exited for the basement, something even louder and faster than before, and it sent the entire house up into an uproar, the kind that made the rafters shake.

 

But as soon as he closed the door, the noise was muffled, leaving him with shaking wooden stairs and a single lightbulb that shook as he made his way down the stairs.

 

The conversation was heavier in the basement, people could talk without yelling, and even get drinks from a run down bar at the back of the room. A man with headphones bobbed to the beat as he adjusted dials and tuners on a soundboard, controlling music through the whole house.

 

Patrick ordered an orange soda at the bar, to the bartenders confusion, and made his way to a far corner of the room where he could see everyone. At the table closest to him, a man with big hair talked to a tired looking boy with black, greasy hair and a green jacket. Two thin looking boys who looked fresh out of the city sat nearby, nervously looking over each other's shoulders.

 

Patrick fiddled with his ray gun and eavesdropped on their conversation.

 

“Ghoul, listen to me-” The man with big hair started, and was quickly interrupted, by the one called Ghoul, who groaned loudly and put his head face down on the table, his greasy black hair fanning out in front of him in chunks.

 

“Not so loud!” He mumbled through his arm, slamming a glass of a flat, brown liquid on the table, “I don’t care about anything you’re telling me right now Jet,” Ghoul slurred, then lifted his head and pointed at one of the thin boys and said: “One of you should go up and get me another glass or… just the whole bottle… ha!... of Acid Rain, yeah, can you do that?” He pushed the glass towards the one with curly brown hair and narrow eyes, who leaned away with a confused expression painted on his face.

 

The glass fell and shattered on the ground, sending its contents splashing onto the bottoms of his friends pants.

 

“Fuck,” Ghoul whispered.   

 

“I’m serious Ghoul, you should know about this.” Jet leaned forward.

 

“Is it that Party guy again? And his brother with the… Stone face?” Ghoul rubbed his own face in turn. The name ‘Party’ caught Patrick’s attention. “I don’t care about those assholes, and I don’t care that you think we’re _friends,_ and all that static…”

 

“I’ve known them for a long time Ghoul, I’ve been thinking about joining their crew-”

 

“Blah, blah, blah, you want me to join with you… and _what?_ Be famous? Get all that sweet BL/ind recognition? I don’t need it!” Ghoul flapped his arms and almost fell backwards off the bench, he grabbed the table for support. “I got everything I need right here!” He pounded his fists on the table and yelled to the bartender, “Ain’t that right Big Julie?!” The bartender rolled his eyes.

 

“They’ve heard of you, Fun Ghoul,” Jet stressed, “They’ve heard of what you can do, and what you’ve done, I know things have gone to shit since The Massacre of Zone 5 and LeATHERMOUTH got-”

 

“Shut up, _Jet Star,”_ Fun Ghoul mocked, “You don’t have the right to even- And I don’t care about that…strawberry headed asshole and his dumb fucking…” Fun Ghoul sighed heavily, “His brother, who kicked me like some sort of fucking ninja!”

 

Jet Star rolled his eyes and said: “Give them another chance, Ghoul, you can’t spend the rest of your life in this club, drunk and hooking up with anyone that remembers when you blew up that BLi outpost-”

 

Fun Ghoul stood suddenly, knocking over the bench and making Patrick jump, it began to rain. “You need to shut up about shit you don’t understand!” Fun Ghoul slurred. One of the thin boys looked around the basement, asking for help with his eyes.

 

He caught sight of Patrick for a second, and looked away, wringing his hands.

 

Jet Star stood to face Fun Ghoul, and towered over him, making the drunk man even angrier, shouting and calling Jet terrible names.

 

Thunder shook the building and a flash of light filled the room, diverting everyone’s attention to the DJ, who was clutching his stomach as it ran red with blood. A boy stood next to him, a little bit of blood splattered on his face as he stared, wide eyed, at what he’d done. His ratty brown hair went in every direction and his hands shook as the music upstairs scratched to a halt.

 

“E-Everyone put your guns in f-front of me.” He said, stuttering and unsure. Everyone stared and he waved his gun at them all. “Y-You heard me! Don’t make any s-sudden moves, or I’ll shoot you!”

 

A few confused looking boys closest to him removed their guns from their holsters and threw them close to the boy, the rest didn’t follow until the boy pointed his gun at them, saying: “I’m serious! There are people upstairs too! You have to do what I say or… I’ll kill you!” He swung the gun in Jet Star and Fun Ghoul’s direction, “You first!”

 

Jet stood and placed his hand on his raygun, still in it’s holster, and the boy tightened his grip on his own, causing Jet to spread his palms in front of himself before dropping his gun into the growing pile. Fun Ghoul followed, and Patrick copied him, placing his gun on the floor and backing away.

 

Short screams came from upstairs, but were quickly silenced, along with a sickening _thump_ that Patrick knew was bodies hitting the floor.

 

The boy’s breathing steadied as everyone placed their guns in front of him, asking him, “What the fuck man?” and “What are you doing?” He refused to answer, only shouting at them to be quiet.

 

Patrick took a seat in front of him and looked the nervous boy in the eye, “Why are you doing this?”

 

He shook his head, “I’m not allowed to answer you.”

 

Patrick sucked in a breath and tried again, “Is it Mr. Brightside?”

 

Thunder boomed and the boy’s face grew even more afraid.

 

Then he yelled: “Everyone get on the ground! On the ground and sit on your hands!” They stared at him, not listening until he shot another blast from his raygun into the wall, “GET ON THE GROUND!”

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

 

There are… bright lights.

 

Flashing around the room.

 

His whole body is tingling.

 

Sleep becomes difficult and easy all at once.

 

Pete and Jon hover over him, talking, he wishes he could join the conversation but there is something in his mouth, blocking his speech like a ball of cotton that scratches his throat. The room swirls and he hears whispers, echoing throughout the house.

 

The Cobra appears, smiling through his purple mask, the pupils in his eyes turn slitted like a snakes and his smile is full of sharp teeth and suddenly he is Disashi, squeezing clawed fingers around Andy’s arms and holding him to the bed. His body jerks, trying to get free let me go let me go LET ME GO!

 

_Andy? It’s okay, you’re okay!_

 

Milwaukee.

 

The grass is green and the backyard goes on forever, he has tire swing that makes him dizzy.

 

“Hey!” Jon yells, “My mom made brownies!”

 

He leaps from the swing and steadies himself by falling to the ground, “Let me guess?” He says to Jon, “You ate them all and came to brag, you fattie.”

 

Jon laughs, “I brought one for you, you piece of shit!”

 

Andy stretches out his hand and takes the brownie, it crumbles onto his face when he takes a bite. Jon lays next to him.

 

He takes another bite and spits it out, gagging, “Gross! What’s in this?” Sand falls from where he took a bite, Jon doesn’t answer.

 

Andy coughs sand from his lungs until it spills from his mouth, wet and scratching at the sides of his mouth, spilling to the ground and he pushes his fingers to the back of his throat. The brownie falls to the ground and melts into sand and the green grass dissolves. Melting into the tan of the desert.

 

His mouth finally empties and he is left with a quivering jaw, kneeling in the middle of a pocket wasteland that had already begun tracing itself through his bright green lawn and flowing up the sides of his house.

 

A pit opened in the middle, in front of him and sand fell to quickly fill it.

 

A hand emerged, dark skinned and smooth, sand was caught under its fingernails as it pulled itself from its dusty grave.

 

Calum.

 

His curly hair is full of sand and he says: “I’m praying for you, mate.” His voice is coming from all around him, echoing in the now desert that used to be his home, “You’re sick, I want you to get better.” He reaches out and grabs Andy by the shoulder, tight. His hand is cold and weighs Andy down.

 

Calum’s face collapses into sand and his body falls apart and builds itself again, the hand still tight around his shoulder.

 

It builds itself again and it’s Pete.

 

Except it isn’t.

 

Pete’s mouth is full of sharp teeth as he smiles, impossibly wide, his eyes are dark and chalked with black and his hair is spiked.

 

His clothes are dark and he wears a cape made of shadows that blankets their surroundings, turning the sky dark and the clouds black.

 

“Pete?” He asks.

 

Not-Pete shakes his head, then puts a finger to his lips, he whispers:

 

**_sick, aren’t you?_ **

 

Andy can only stare.

 

**_you’ve lost something, haven’t you?_ **

 

Andy shakes his head, no. He doesn’t remember.

 

**_yes you have_ **

 

Not-Pete puts both hands on Andy’s cheeks and a horrible pounding fills his head, steady and it causes him so much pain

                                                                                                                                                                                                 pain

_pain_

_p a i n_

**_you have, haven’t you?_ **

 

_PLEASE_

 

_PLEASE STOP_

 

Milwaukee.

 

“We could start a band,” Jon smiles, his words are slow, like they’ve been edited, they’re lying on the grass in his backyard, “I could play guitar, and with you on-!” A pale a hand wraps around his throat and chokes the words right out of the air and pale, smooth skin and mocha eyes say:

 

“Forget about them Mr. Hurley," Her voice is smooth and sends shivers up and down his entire body, “That racket has no place in our **BETTER WORLD**.”

 

The pounding is louder and louder and louder and he wants it to STOP OH GOD PLEASESTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPPLEASE

 

**_if you remember, you will stop hurting_ **

 

Not-Pete leans in _so close_ and his lips brush Andy’s skin, cold and warm at the same time.

 

**_if you remember, you will be cured_ **

 

He wants to scream and scream and scream _PLEASE PETE PLEASE S T O P  P L E A S E_

 

**_i am not him, he is not me_ **

 

Not-Pete snarls in his ear.

 

**_i am only The Sandman_ **

 

Then The Sandman dissolves, flowing through air and soaking into Andy’s skin, soft and sweet like a kiss and sharp and foul like a slap on the face.

 

The milk white hand appears again, brushing up and down his cheek and mocha eyes smile, but her smooth voice is broken and straining, “For-get them M-Mr. Hurley...Th-at **RACKET** has n-no _place-”_

 

The sand swallows her as the pounding in his head becomes soft, constant.

 

He is back in the Shithole, on his feet.

 

Johnny smiles, taunting and cruel.

 

Their fight begins again.

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

 

Andy seizes and grabs at the mattress, he’s covered in sweat and mutters under his breath and Pete is afraid for him.

 

He keeps him cool with a wet rag, like Patrick told him to, and speaks soothing words whenever Andy forces his eyes wide, searching for solace from whatever pain the withdrawal could be doing to him.

 

Pete wonders if any of his friends back in Chicago went through something like this whenever the drug they had decided to fill themselves with had finally run out. He tried to remember that this was a good thing, or at least an okay one.

 

Andy would finally be free.

 

The Green Man stayed close by, and they would trade brief conversations, mostly about Andy, trying to break the heavy silence that hung over the Shithole.

 

“How did you meet him?” Green Man asked.

 

“Through a friend,” Pete mumbled, staring as Andy finally calmed in his restless sleep, “He was supposed to help us get out of the city, you?”

 

“Our dads worked together back in Milwaukee,” The Green Man leaned against the wall, “I think we met when we were both in at least… first grade? Yeah, first grade, but I thought he was so weird you know? He was always so quiet until I got to know him,” He smiled, “Then he wouldn’t shut up.”

 

Pete gave him a breathy laugh, smiling wide, then stopped when Andy began to convulse again.

 

“Here,” Green Man stopped him, “You take a break, I got this.” Pete nodded in thanks and stood, stretching. He made his way around the various piles of stuffed animals and glanced in Baby Snakes room.

 

Brobeck sat against the wall, clutching a stuffed blue cat and staring at the wall across from him.

 

Leaning against the wall, Pete told him: “You need to sleep, Brobeck, Baby Snake was right.”

 

“Shut up,” Brobeck looked away, “Just shut up.”

 

“Okay,” Pete entered the room, taking a look around at the small stacks of books, hastily bound with string and tape. He picked one up, struggling to decipher the scratched out title, “I didn’t pen Baby Snake as a Robert Frost kind of guy.”

 

“He reads what he can,” Brobeck mumbles.

 

Pete waves the book in his direction, “You think he would mind if I take a look?” Brobeck shrugs.

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

Pete nods and makes his way downstairs.

 

Opening the book, he made his way to the kitchen, twisting around the shelves and crinkling his nose as he read the first poem.

 

It took him a moment to even register what he was reading, his thoughts staying upstairs with Andy or following the truck containing Patrick and Horseshoe. Glass appeared, wide eyed and anxious looking as he usually was.

 

Pete sets the book down. “What’s up?”

 

Glass looks over his shoulder, then sits down.

 

“Disashi is acting…” Glass wrings his hands, “He’s a completely different person.”

 

Pete hasn’t known Glass long.

 

He’s jumpy and addicted to the radiation beating down from the sun, and he’s close with Brobeck and Baby Snake.

 

They haven’t even talked until now.

 

“What do you mean?” Pete can see how nervous Glass is, rubbing his thumbs into his palms and jumping from foot to foot. He reminds Pete of the few bin rats in the Lobby, nervous and jumping at the slightest of sounds.

 

“I mean… he’s different from earlier,” Glass sits at the table, “Like someone flipped a switch, he’s acting like… Mr. Brightside.”

 

Pete furrows his brow and stands up from the table, Glass copies him. “I’ll find him, maybe he was lying when he said he was forced to work for them, or maybe he’s in shock or something.”

 

“He’s in the back of the Shithole, where all those instruments are.” Glass points in the direction he was referring to and Pete nods, instructing him to stay in the kitchen.

 

He weaves around the shelves, glancing at all the little trinkets and empty picture frames occupying the space, until finally reaching an area Pete had never seen before, and he wondered if the Shithole went on forever with shelves and shelves of all the crap Brobeck had collected throughout the years.

 

Rusted trumpets and broken saxophones hung from the walls, and a tuba with a cover over the bell advertised the faded logo of a high school marching band. A clarinet with broken keys and a scratched mouthpiece stood on it’s bell, somehow proud through its imperfections.

 

It almost made Pete smile.

 

An old red and black bass guitar rested on its stand, and he ran his fingers over the frets before picking it up, trying to remember the short lessons he had gone to as a kid.

 

Disashi almost seemed to appear from the shadows.

 

“Do you play?” He asked, making Pete jump.

 

“Disashi,” He tries to calm his rapidly-beating heart, “I’ve been looking for you.”

 

“Yeah?” Disashi tilted his head slightly, outside, the sky grew dark as clouds covered the sun. “Is there something wrong?”

 

Pete put the bass back on it’s stand, rubbing the back of his head, nervous and unsure. “Well… the way you’ve been acting, it’s kind of been…”

 

“Oh,” Disashi nodded, “I’m sorry, guess I’ve been kind of in shock you know? I mean, This is the first time I’ve really been free since I left home.” Pete gives him a questioning look and he continues: “I leave someplace terrible, and I get forced into doing something worse? It’s catching up to me.”

 

His words scrape the bottom of the barrel, and Pete can’t find it in him to believe Disashi so he says: “Glass is scared, he thinks you’re still for Mr. Brightside, and honestly Disashi? I’m having my own doubts.”

 

Disashi shrugs, “That’s fine, I’ll apologize for freaking that Wave Head out, but you think what you want to think Angel Dust, I’m not here for Brightside.”  


Pete screws his face even more, “Angel Dust?”

 

“Newbie,” Disashi clarified, backing into the aisle between shelves, “Fresh meat from the city, think you know so much, like an angel from on high, I was _born_ here, Vulture Food, you don’t know anything.” Then he was gone, disappearing behind the shelves and melting into the shadows.

 

Pete found Brobeck, holding his blue cat tight and lighting candles as the rain began. He nodded in greeting and thunder shook the building, causing both of them to whip their heads to look upward as lightning and false daylight jolted Pete’s already racing heart.

 

Taking a deep breath he said: “Disashi’s acting weird, just so you know, he keeps disappearing.”

 

Brobeck nodded slightly, “I’ll find him, I know my way around better than anybody,” He lit another candle as thunder came once again, “I hope they’re okay.”

 

“Benzedrine and-?”

 

“Baby Snake, and the rest,” Brobeck stood to his full height, “Storms like this make everything worse.” Rain pounded the sides of the Shithole and the sound made Pete shiver.

 

“I’m trying to stay positive,” He reasoned.

 

Brobeck gave him a blank look through tired eyes and shrugged, “I’m having a hard time doing that right now.” He looked behind himself, towards the stairs, “Green Man asked for you.”

 

“Oh thanks,” Pete took a step past him and paused, “Do you need any help?”

 

“No, it’s fine,” Brobeck shook his head, “You should see what Green Man wants.”

 

Pete hesitated, then made his way upstairs.

 

The Green Man stood as he entered, tossing him the damp rag and saying: “I’m gonna go get something to eat, can you look after him?”

 

“Sure,” Pete squeezed the rag between his fingers, “Bring me up something?”

 

Nodding, The Green Man climbed down to the first floor.

 

Andy was quiet.

 

He isn’t sure how much time passed, but as thunder crashed overhead, a loud _bang!_ sounded from downstairs, vibrating up Pete’s spine and making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Andy pulled a gasping breath of air into his lungs and writhed on the mattress, clutching the thin sheets and pillows in tight fists.

 

Pete was almost unsurprised, he felt as if he had been holding his breath since he had spoken with Glass, _waiting_ for something to happen.

 

He stood, almost on instinct, and grabbed Andy under his arms, pulling him from the bed.

 

He could barely respond as Andy leaned heavily on his side, blinking furiously and taking in hard, uneven gasps of air.

 

“C’mon Andy,” Pete whispered, “It’s okay, just a feeling, but we gotta move.”

 

Andy stumbled as Pete lead him down the narrow steps. The Shithole was dark, and the candles Brobeck had so carefully lit lay smoking, making the air heavy with a mix of aromatic smells that clogged his nose and made it hard to breath.

 

Glass and Brobeck appeared, helping support Andy and Pete as they touched the first floor.

 

“Where’s Green Man?” Pete asked, Glass shook his head.

 

“Where’s _Disashi?_ ” He asked, shaking his head, his eyes wide and full of fear, they were almost hard to see in the darkened room. Pete released another heavy sigh.

 

“Let’s get to the kitchen, somewhere less closed off.”

 

Brobeck nodded, and led the way, flinching at the moments of false daylight and roaring thunder.

 

No one spoke.

 

He doesn’t know when it happened, but Brobeck was gone in the split second it took Pete to blink, and Glass suddenly halted in his steps, tightening his posture and squeezing Andy closer to himself.

 

“Where did he go?” He asked, Pete shook his head.

 

“The kitchen?” he tried calming his own nerves, though his heart was pounding in his ears, making him feel as if the entire world could hear him and his shaky breathing that seemed to echo through the entire building.

 

They both steeled themselves and entered the kitchen, placing Andy in an empty chair in front of the open Robert Frost book Pete had been reading what felt like seconds before.

 

“Where’s Brobeck?” Glass seemed on the edge of tears. “Or Green Man?”

 

Pete had no answer.

 

“They’re fine,” Disashi stood at the edge of the room, his stance wide and his arms at his sides, unbothered, The Green Man’s raygun hung lazily in his left hand. “You two are more perceptive than I thought, for Angel Dust and a Bather.”

 

“So you are for Mr. Brightside.” said Pete, his hands shaking at his sides.

 

“Fuck no,” Disashi spat, “Why would I? He believes in a myth, I believe in the truth, I have a mission, it was a simple mistake getting caught in all that static.” He raised the gun, pointing it in Pete’s direction. “Now, hand over the Ritalin Rat.”

 

Andy convulsed at his words, spitting and shaking in his seat.

 

“What?” Pete asked, incredulous.

 

“You made it so easy, bringing him down here, so thank you,” Disashi took a step forward and Pete moved to stand protectively in front of Andy.

 

“What do you want with him? And what did you do with our friends?”

 

“Like I would tell you,” Disashi cocked his head, sarcastic, “He has been chosen, that’s all you need to know-” He was interrupted by a weak punch to the side of his head, which sent him stumbling. The Green Man tripped, spitting blood out his mouth before turning to Pete.

 

Disashi turned, anger tracing its way around his face, and shot Green Man through the leg.

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

 

He sat on the ground, on his hands, staring up at the boy, who tossed his gun nervously between two hands. “Hey,” he whispered.

 

“Shut up!” The boy stressed, glancing up at the stairs as if death would climb down them. Patrick followed his gaze, then turned back to the boy.

 

“Listen to me,” Patrick whispered, “I need to know, is this for Brightside?”

 

The boy shook his head, rocking back and forth on two feet, “Please, please just be quiet.”

 

“I need to know,” Patrick pushed, “Look at me, are you being forced to do this?” The kid wouldn’t look him in the eye.

 

Across the room, a few bar patrons huddled over the DJ, trying to help him bandage his wounds, whispering softly among themselves. The rest sat quiet, glancing between Patrick and the kid.

 

“I have a friend, Ben Barlow,” Patrick continued, “Do you know him?”

 

The kid finally met his gaze.

 

“He’s about your age, blond hair…”

 

The kid nodded, “Yeah I know him.”

 

Patrick nodded, “He’s in the same boat as you, forced to work for them-” The kid shook his head.

 

“I… I wasn’t forced,” His eyes betrayed him, wide and afraid, “This… this is my choice.”

 

“Look at me,” Patrick stressed, “If this was your choice, you would have killed that DJ, shot him between the eyes, but you didn’t, you shot him through the side, you’re not a killer, and you don’t work for them, they can’t force you into this.”

 

“You don’t understand,” The kid’s voice went high, “My family is here, if I leave, they all get punished.” He stood straight as someone came down the stairs, stopping at the bottom landing.

 

“We’re ready to go Pawlovich,” The person who spoke held an old pre-Helium gun in his arms, strapped around his neck, “Get these people upstairs.”

 

The kid, Pawlovich, nodded, looking nervously around the room.

 

“For Pete’s sake,” The gunman rolled his eyes then turned to the people seated on the floor. “Get the fuck up!” he yelled, firing a few rounds into the wall. They stood immediately, Patrick grabbed Pawlovich’s arm.

 

“Stay close, we have a plan.”

 

Pawlovich shook his head, staying near the back of the group as they exited the basement.

 

They entered to a packed living room, standing shoulder to shoulder with sweaty partygoers, some too drunk to even fully understand the situation. Patrick had trouble seeing over them, to his annoyance, and he put his hand on his empty gun holster to calm himself.

 

He made eye contact with Young Vein, who pointed to himself and nodded, Patrick understood.

 

_On my signal._

 

A whisper went around the room to all those who could balance on their own two feet, Patrick even heard Keegan giggle that: _‘Young Vein is gonna save me! Like I’m a princess!’_

 

“What the fuck is going?” The man called Ghoul said, standing on his toes, “I can see fuckall from here, what the fuck.” He almost fell on top of Patrick. “Fuck!”

 

The two skinny boys from earlier, stood near the back, afraid and hugging the wall. Their friend, Jet, tapped Patrick on the shoulder. “Do you know what’s going on?”

 

“Have you heard of Mr. Brightside? Patrick whispered. Jet’s eyes went wide. “Young Vein, over there, is gonna signal something, you might want to get out when shit starts going down.”

 

Jet nodded, then leaned to talk to the two boys against the wall.

 

A wave of murmurs and giggles went around the room and then:

“Hello!” A cheerful voice rang through the entire house, “Hello! I am so happy to see you all here!”

 

The Southern Man jumped on a broken coffee table, smiling, his fingers twitching.

 

His smile was faker than it had ever been, he had no room for happiness.

 

“Isn’t it a lovely night?” He said, emphasised by a shock of lightning.

 

The room began to heat up, over capacity, they must have closed the garage door.

 

Patrick pushed forward to see him better.

 

“This is such a wonderful opportunity!” The Southern Man smiled even wider, “For I come, bearing wonderful news!”

 

“More Acid?” A drunken yell from a back corner of the room, a flash of light and it was silenced.

 

“I am merely a vessel my friends!”

 

Patrick pushed his way to front, finally able to see him up close, skinnier and more gaunt than the last time. His hair was thin and falling out, and his eyes empty.

 

“I have no name, and I have no use for one! I am a transport, a vehicle for the one they call the Brightside!” Another wave of whispers, Patrick looked for Young Vein, watching for his signal.

 

The Southern Man continued: “We all are put under the boot by Better Living Industries, aren’t we? All of us, from the Bather to the Killjoy, why, even those poor Ritalin Rats in the city! Hell, _everyone_ in Battery City! They’re all just children, children with open, filthy palms crying out! What will save us?” He grabbed one of compatriots by the shoulders, “ _What will save us?”_

 

“All those Juvie Halls and Bin Rats, yearning for something more, _freedom from BLi!_ That is my good news my friends! Don’t we all wish to bury BLi in the dirt they rose from?” Murmurs spread throughout the room, making Patrick anxious, as if the Southern Man could swing the partygoers opinions in his favor.

 

“You can all have a part in my plan my friends!” The Southern Man spread his arms wide, “Every single one of you!” Then, in one fluid motion, he turns to face Patrick, the most empty, and bloody smile, plastered to his face, _“Even you Goldeneyes.”_

 

Patrick takes in a quick shuddering breath as his stomach fills with hot coals.

 

There is the crashing and splintering wood over one of the Southern Man’s lackeys and Young Vein screams: “ _LET’S GO!”_

 

There is an uproar, screaming and yelling and dancing as drunken partygoers grabs for the nearest follower of Brightside, hitting them as hard as they can, hooting and hollering as rain pounded the roof.

 

Patrick sees the two thin boys disappear into the basement and then the Southern Man is gone, lost in the crowd of drunken screwheads and angels dancing in neon lights, screaming at the top of their lungs:

 

**DEATH TO BLI!**

 

And death to Mr. Brightside.

 

The Southern Man was whisper quiet and Patrick could feel a disgusting pressure building in his head and suddenly it was like he was back in Zone 5.

 

The screams and the wails, the death all around him, bodies stacking and the rain falling and falling and falling until Sixx runs past him _Don’t give up now!_

 

This time it’s Ben Barlow, smiling and sweet faced, “ _Let’s party!”_ He says, offering Patrick a hand, then disappearing into the crowd.

 

Patrick is so filled with happiness in that moment he almost doesn’t see Horseshoe Crab and Baby Snake fighting back to back, or Mona Lisa and Young Vein passing back stolen guns, or even Sixx, who appears from the shadows, his blue eyes almost glowing.

 

He gets his gun back from Sixx, who smiles and shoves it into his arms like a birthday present before slamming down a can of Acid and shooting a cult caper point blank to the back of the head.

 

He needs to find the Southern Man.

 

The hot coals in his stomach relight.

 

The garage, he thinks.

 

He follows the smell of whiskey and smoke, the fight carries on around him, and he has to push and shove his way to the garage, making his way around almost half naked bodies and puddles of blood mixed alcohol.

 

There is smoke, and Patrick’s sudden presence in the doorway makes the men trying to start the fire scatter like the breeze, running past Patrick and into the fight.

 

The few who stayed, laughed, hysterical like their leader, who greeted Patrick with a hard grip on his shoulders. His skin burned at the Southern Man’s touch and the hot coals turned into a blaze.

 

“I’m always so happy to see you,” He smiled, like he does so often, “Though you have caused me so much trouble!” His voice cracked, and his smile faltered. “You have helped me though!”

 

He waved his hands towards the white body bags stacked against the wall, “All from Zone 5! I hope you don’t mind!”

 

The walls suddenly close in around him.

 

“My… you, took family!”

 

“They’re just bodies now, Goldeneyes!”

 

Patrick heart races, and the blaze becomes a wildfire, “They’re my _family!”_ He yells as if he can make the Southern Man _understand,_ but his rage leaps close to the surface and the Southern Man can see that.

 

So, as Patrick reaches for his gun, The Southern Man pushes him into the garage, un-steadying him and he trips.

 

The Southern Man laughs, a broken and empty laugh that rings in Patrick’s ears as he falls into the small fire that they had created, he closes his eyes shields his face as the fire burns his arms and licks at his clothes and Dr. Benzedrine _opens his eyes._

 

The first thing he sees are his family’s bodies.

 

Stacked like cows and he _rises_ from the flames with an unearthly roar so loud it seems like it shakes the building, sending dust falling from the ceiling and into his hair.

 

The Southern Man laughs again, “Maybe I was wrong, Goldeneyes! Maybe you are the vessel! Come to save us all! The demon that Brightside summoned?”

 

Benzedrine makes a grab for The Southern Man’s companions, who laugh and taunt and throw pebbles. He pushes one against the wall, ramming their head against the thin plaster, they fall, he is unsatisfied.

 

The Southern Man grabs him around the shoulders again and he lunges forward trying to wrap his hands around his thin throat and he misses as The Southern Man jumps backwards, sinking into the neon lights of the fight.

 

Benzedrine stumbles forward, batting away the rocks and sticks thrown his way and the fight rages on.

 

Someone had gotten the music running again, turned up past eleven, and it echoed in his ears, terrible and loud, making him twitch and grab at his ears as if scratching them off would kill the noise.

 

The lights swirled and made him dizzy as he pushed people away, still fighting and and drinking and _staring_ at him, their eyes burning into him and he swung at them _stop stop stop_

 

**_STOP_ **

 

The Southern Man appears again, dancing around him and thunder booms overhead and Benzedrine’s fire returns, burning at the edges of his vision and he roars again, louder and louder as it fills the room, embers and ash fly from the sides of his mouth and He is home again.

 

His father guides his hand and his mother guides his eyes and he _strikes him down._

 

_Down._

 

 _Down to the floor_.

 

The screaming and yelling fades around him as the Southern Man realizes his mistake.

 

“I was saving us all Goldeneyes!”  He grunts, but his mission has left him as he tries to fight back.

 

Benzedrine eyes are golden and full, no pupils left.

 

“I thought you were mine!” He cried, “What happened?”

 

False Daylight.

 

BLi was there, outside, he could feel their icy presence.

 

Benzedrine spoke.

 

**I was never yours.**

 

The music stops.

 

Benzedrine is gone.

 

Horseshoe pulls him away as the Exterminators enter, grabbing anyone they can get they’re hands on.

 

The Southern Man is broken, bloody, and blinded.

 

They take him anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Green Man screamed, ringing in Pete’s ears as he tackled Disashi, sending them both spiraling to the floor, wrestling for the gun. Andy and Glass clung to each other, Glass trying to maneuver his way to the screen door, and Andy just holding onto _something,_ clothes, skin, hair, shaking and breathing heavy.

 

“This is something you can’t control Angel!” Disashi yelled, finally taking hold of the gun, sending Pete tumbling to the floor.

 

The Green Man was still yelling, grunting in pain, pulling himself to his feet, wanting to fight. “Card!” He spat more blood from his mouth, finally falling into the table in all the confusion. Disashi squinted into the dim light, trying to aim, and a thin bolt of light shot past Pete’s left ear as he stood, leaving a thin cut that stung almost instantly.

 

For a moment, Pete could only stand stock still, shivering.

 

Disashi had since given up trying to aim, finally allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark, he takes his raygun to the back of Glass’s head and grabbing Andy around the waist in one fluid motion as the rain outside dwindles.

 

Glass falls and Disashi and Andy are out the door, Disashi dragging a seizing and convulsing Andy, trying to defend himself as if the fight wasn’t over.

 

It took a minute for Pete to even register they were gone before he was out the door after him, scrambling and tripping over his own feet in the sand after Disashi’s thin silhouette, his gait unbothered by dragging Andy after him.

 

“Stop!” He screamed, his voice scraping against his throat. “Stop! Andy!”

 

Surprisingly, Disashi stopped.

 

He turned, robotic and almost annoyed. “I told you, you can’t control this Angel Dust.” He raised the gun.

 

“Just listen-!”

 

A bolt of light and pain in his side, and Pete was left face down in the sand, staining it red.

 

Disashi throws the gun to the side.

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hyper Thrust is almost empty, partygoers fleeing at the sight of BLi and a murderous cult.

 

His entire body stings, and his eyes still burn, dry, and his arms are red and the hair on them burned away. Touching them hurt and he had other things he had to attend to.

 

The DJ Pawlovich had shot would survive, which was the only positive thing to come from that night.

 

Pawlovich had shaken the DJ’s shaking hand, introducing himself as Dan, and the DJ had accepted his apology, slightly delirious from the alcohol in his wound. His name was Max.

 

Horseshoe had finally stopped him when his hands had become to shaky to help patch wounds, settling him down in the quietest corner they could find. Everyone gave them a wide birth.

 

Horseshoe put a slightly dirty rag to his burnt arms, hesitating when Patrick winced at the cold of the water they had found behind the bar.

 

“Do you…” Horseshoe began, “What do you remember?”

 

“Almost nothing,” Patrick croaked, “Except, this,” he motioned to his arms, “And… they threw rocks at me, and all these… bright lights.”

 

Horseshoe looked up at him, almost afraid, “You really don’t remember?”

 

“What?”

 

Horseshoe looked down at the dripping rag, “I didn’t see my mom.”

 

“Joe!” Patrick leaned forward, “Remember what?”  


“He spoke.”

 

Sixx had appeared, over Horseshoe’s shoulder.

 

“The other you anyway, in our heads, sort of.”

 

“What… what did he say?”

 

“Well… He didn’t really say it,” Sixx  leaned against the wall, “More like… he opened his mouth and his thoughts just filled the room, it filled my head with one sentence, it was like the only thing I could hear: ‘I was never yours’, he said it, right to the Southern Man.”

 

“That’s when Better Living showed up,” Horseshoe added, “One of the guests was a drone.”

 

“How many people did they take?” Patrick asked, taking a glance around the room, searching for the rest of his friends.

 

Ben Barlow swung around the corner, “Thankfully not many!” He smiled.

 

Secret Lover grabbed his shoulder, smiling as wide as she could manage, “Guess who I found?”

 

Patrick breathed a sigh of relief, “Ben.” He stood, his hands shaking and his fingers twitching, they hugged, a better one than last time.

 

Ben Barlow pulled away first, “Listen, I’m gonna take the bodies back.”

 

‘You don’t need-”

 

“I do, I really do Patrick.” Ben Barlow’s face was set, “Please.”

 

Patrick grabbed him around the shoulder, resting his hand there for a moment to reassure to himself that Ben was something _real._ “You don’t have to ask for my permission Ben.”

 

Ben smiled again.

 

“You know, I hate to be that asshole,” Sixx interrupted.

 

“But aren’t you anyway?” Secret Lover teased.

 

“I’m serious, this isn’t over,” Sixx leaned forward, “There’s still the one in the city, Mr. Brightside is far from gone.”

 

“Just give us a break Sixx,” Ben Barlow sighed.

 

There was the sound of static, and Crash was there, shoving a dusty radio into Patrick’s arms. “Dr. D found her, he gave us the call from the truck.” His face was alight with hope.

 

Secret Lover stood straight, “Celluloid Hero?”

 

“Far east, in Zone 3,” Crash nodded, and Baby Snake came up behind him.

 

“We have to go after her!” Secret Lover exclaimed, “If she really knows about the Scarecrow then we have to find her!”

 

Crash nodded, almost crying in happiness, “Lightning is out with the truck, we can go now if you want?” He turned to Patrick, “What do say… Dr. Benzedrine?”

 

“I-” He paused, turning back to Horseshoe.

 

“Go,” He said, nodding, “You need to figure this out, you need to figure everything out.”

 

“It’ll feel weird having you gone after all this,” Patrick couldn’t describe what he was feeling.

 

“If this is about the Scarecrow, I’m coming too, I want to get that bastard for what he did.” Sixx pounded his fist into his palm.

 

“Well,” Baby Snake frowned, “I’m heading back to the Shithole with Young Vein and Mona, I’m getting a bad feeling.”

 

“I’ll go with you,” Horseshoe stood and offered Patrick a hand to shake. Patrick took it, then hugged him. Horseshoe paused before returning it.

 

“Thank you,” Patrick whispered in his ear, “We’ll find your mom.”

 

“Just come back alive.”

 

They separated.

 

“This is so fucking shiny!” Secret Lover clapped her hands, “Let’s find the fucking Scarecrow!”

 

She punched Crash on the arm and he stumbled backward, laughing, and almost running into the two boys from earlier, the ones Patrick had thought looked straight from the city. The one with the narrow eyes and curly hair tips backward before catching himself on the wall.

 

“Oh shit sorry,” Crash apologized.

 

“No, it’s okay,” The kid looked back at his friend before turning back, “But were you talking about the Scarecrow Program?”

 

_“Weep for what little things could make them glad.”_

_―_ _Robert Frost_

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for a short epilogue 
> 
> Anyway I want to thank my cat, Sandy, cause she's so sweet, bottlefullofarsenic, for making AMAZING art, andtrickfucker, for being my editor! And to all of you guys and all the guests who left kudos and and stuff, you're all wonderful and I can't wait to write more and return to this universe!
> 
> You can find me at www.sangrientojoe.tumblr.com where i am always ready to answer questions


	21. Epilogue

_Johnny found himself twelve miles from the Shithole fearing death._

 

_He is ashamed of himself, ashamed of Dee Dee, ashamed of what they had become without Joey._

 

_He finds a caravan of three Zonerunners, carrying water, food, and clothes._

 

_He steals._

 

_It is a disgusting feeling, he ponders, to want to die and continue to fight._

 

_He wanders, dreaming of a never ending fight._

 

_He remembers that day when Joey died, in pain, in that little hut in Zone 5._

 

_He runs from Dracs and neutrals that refuse him solace._

 

_His water is stolen and his shoes taken, burning his feet._

 

_When those three Zonerunners find him, he is delirious, unable to form a sentence. His lips are chapped and his eyes are red._

 

_They find him alone and ready for death and yet he tries to fight, sending out weak punches and kicks and biting at fingers._

 

_He fights someone who is miles away, someone with tired eyes and a dirty collared shirt._

 

_He thinks he is winning until the three Zonerunners pull their guns._

 

_They shoot._

 

_One at a time, point blank, to the face._

 

_Johnny dies dreaming of an unfinished fight with a Ritalin Rat, a battle he will fight forever._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends The Weird Tales of the Ramones
> 
> The sequel is up!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are a girls best friend!


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